


Inertia Tensor

by curv



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, Protective Peter Quill, Protective Tony Stark, Rimming, Romance, Slow Build, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curv/pseuds/curv
Summary: Peter cleared his throat before he spoke up for the first time, “You— you need a synthetic spider silk to… to work like glue inside the space station so it doesn’t get ripped apart while you’re launching it into space? Did— did I get that right?”“That about sums it up,” Tony replied, a smile pulling on the edges of his lips.“Well… I’d love to help.”Peter Parker is a Master’s student at MIT along with PhD candidate Peter Quill in Dr. Bruce Banner’s lab. The trio will be attending an international science and technology conference in San Diego. Peter doesn’t realize that this is the conference of a lifetime, and he’ll soon be recruited by physicist Tony Stark — this year’s keynote speaker — for one of the most groundbreaking STEM projects in human history.Or, the AU in which all of the Avengers are academic science bros.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Peter Quill, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 66
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A friendship between Peter Parker and Peter Quill will shapes the beginning of this story, followed by interactions with other Avengers, before we get to any Starker (Tony is brought in near the end of Chapter 2, after which it gets a lot more interesting). I found this fic evolved and the plot grew exponentially from the initial idea I had. I'm pretty happy with where it went!
> 
> This is the first fic I've written in a while, and also my longest ever. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Tags and explicit rating are for future chapters.
> 
>  **Warning:** As is generally common among grad students, there’s a lot of alcohol consumption in this fic. I’m putting a blanket warning here because drinking will happen in basically every chapter, including this one.

“Fantastic job, Peter!” Quill praised, clapping his hands emphatically in an almost-empty conference room. It was dimly lit, and Peter Quill was one of two men seated around a long mahogany table. The oval-shaped table would have comfortably seated more than twenty people, but this event wasn’t nearly formal enough for such a large audience.

Blushing, Peter Parker said, “Thanks, Quill.”

Dr. Bruce Banner assessed his youngest student behind dark-framed glasses, elbow propped on the glossy table. He was lost in thought, chin resting on the thumb of his hand, fingers closed into a fist with the knuckle of his bent forefinger pushing firmly into his bottom lip.

“Uh, Bruce?” Peter asked, prompting his advisor to stir after several silent seconds dragged by.

“Well done,” Bruce finally said. After a pause, he nodded twice to himself and let his hand fall to the table. Bruce seemed to struggle to fully pull his consciousness out of the depths of his mind to continue, “It seems as though you have a firm understanding of the molecular structure, and that will really help during your talk. Most of the people attending this conference won’t have a background in your field and the explanation you provided is more than enough to get them up to speed.”

“Oh, awesome,” Peter replied, shoulders relaxing slightly as the stress of going over his presentation started to dissipate. “I did keep that in mind, so I’m glad it came through,” he added.

“Do you have a follow-up slide for questions?” Bruce asked. Dressed in a plaid button-up and black pants, he hardly seemed intimidating. Still, Peter had only been his student for a year and was always hoping to impress his advisor.

“Yes,” Peter said, turning to the laptop. He tapped the arrow key to advance to the next slide that projected to a large screen behind him. The slide had an image of a nearly perfect bell-shaped curve on the left and a list of failed formulae on the right.

“That’s great,” Bruce praised. He always remembered to bolster his students’ confidence and commend them when they were on the right track. Having earned seven PhDs in his lifetime, he knew that academia wasn’t always kind. That didn’t mean he had to be like every other asshole professor, though. “You’ve done well. Just keep practising the transition from your hypotheses to your methods. That was the only part that seemed rocky.”

Bruce swiveled in his chair to look at his other student, a PhD candidate who was often much more talkative. Inquisitive, he asked, “Quill? Anything else you want to add?”

Quill swiveled an inch toward Bruce and smiled, the kind of smile he always seemed to pull out of his pocket that spilled sunshine and happiness even in the darkest of times. “Nope!” he said, “You know Peter’s research really isn’t my specialty, anyway. I think he did an awesome job though, generally speaking.” Quill turned to Peter. “I mean, obviously, everyone named Peter is gifted and flawless,” gesturing up and down at his muscular body with both hands, still grinning.

They were the only Bruce Banner lab students currently studying at MIT. After an unusual turn of events at the end of the previous academic year, all of Bruce’s former PhD students had graduated at the same time. Sam Wilson left last May, defending his dissertation after a typical four-year time span, but Gamora left a year earlier than predicted. She spent five years in Banner’s lab, and planned to finish a sixth, but opted instead to drop a chapter to finish her degree before her baby arrived. Drax, on the other hand, had miraculously managed to leave MIT by the skin of his teeth. Quill told Peter Drax had been there for almost eleven years before he’d finished his work. It wasn’t something Peter felt he had the right to ask too much about.

Regardless, Quill’s research with spacecraft technology was cutting-edge. Bruce was mentoring him because one of his PhDs was in aerospace engineering. Peter Parker, on the other hand, worked under Bruce’s biochemical engineering expertise — hence the importance in explaining his molecular compounds. He had never met any of Bruce’s previous mentees, although he knew they had all gone on to pursue prestigious careers in science.

“It must take someone perfect to find the flaws in everything else,” Parker joked, rolling his eyes as he alluded to Quill’s research.

The two of them had formed a friendship of sorts since Peter moved to Cambridge from Queens nine months ago. If either of them found it strange that the only two students left in the Banner lab were both named Peter, they didn’t talk about it much. Besides, Quill didn’t seem to mind being referred to by his last name.

“It’s not my fault I’m the only person on the planet that can design halfway decent fins for atmospheric re-entry,” Quill waggled his eyebrows. “Everyone is so focused on getting into space, but nobody thinks too hard about coming back down.”

“Second person,” Bruce corrected.

“Right,” Quill replied, smiling crookedly back at his advisor.

“So,” Bruce sighed, in perhaps a futile attempt to get them both back on track. “You both have your tickets downloaded?” he asked, looking pointedly from Quill to Peter.

Peter nodded vigorously. Quill saluted and said, “Affirmative,” with a mock-serious tone, eyebrows flat this time.

“Good,” Bruce said. “Make sure you get to the airport on time. I may have some sway at this conference we’re going to, but I guarantee the plane will not be waiting just because I tell a stewardess my students are late.”

“Roger that,” Quill said. “I’m picking Peter up tomorrow, and you know I can always make a deadline in the Milano.”

Bruce groaned, “Then I supposed I should also remind you that it’s imperative to both get there in one piece. No speeding tickets, Quill. Our travel grant is definitely not covering speeding tickets.”

“I’ll wear a seat belt,” Peter supplied. He tried to smile optimistically, but it came out more like a grimace. If he were still in Queens, he definitely would have ridden the subway. Being in the car while Quill was driving was like experiencing NASCAR firsthand, only with absolutely no control in steering or braking, and the racetrack was the Boston suburbs.

“I’ll see you both bright and early at Logan International,” Bruce replied, standing. “Get some good rest tonight. I’ll be in my office until five if you need anything,” he added, already walking through the door.

Peter turned from watching his mentor leave to Quill, who had also risen and was putting on his usual dark red leather motorcycle jacket over his retro t-shirt. “You nervous?” Quill asked.

“Not really,” Peter shrugged. He was, but he didn’t want to admit it. Going to this conference was kind of a big deal. They’d be leaving on the same flight the next morning, a Saturday, at eight o’clock. Peter still needed to pack because he’d spent most of the week preparing for his presentation, studying for his upcoming finals, and also grading his students’ chem lab reports. Graduate school was far from a walk in the park, even for “just” a Master’s student.

“Okay, good,” Peter smiled. “We’re gonna be in Cali for a whole week, dude.”

He walked a few steps up to Peter and sat on the edge of the conference table. “I’m really glad you’ll be there this time. The last ICNST we went to, Drax was a total wet blanket. You have no idea how much fun we’re gonna have.”

Peter let out a slow breath, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Quill assured Peter. He stood and winked, “Don’t forget ear plugs though. I snore like a freight train. See you in the morning, I’m gonna see if my models are finished running in the lab.”

Peter smiled as Quill left, then disconnected his laptop from the projector and put it in his backpack. As much as he loved computers, he was glad he didn’t have nearly as many models to code as Quill did. The stuff Quill simulated required a remote server and days at a time to process. The guy was brilliant.

Then again, Bruce only accepted the most promising students to his lab. What that said about Peter, he wasn’t sure. Peter hadn’t graduated high school as valedictorian, nor did he have a 4.0 while he double majored at Cornell in chemistry and physics. However, something about his undergraduate research caught Bruce’s eye, and Peter already had a grad school offer waiting for him before his diplomas arrived in the mail.

Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder and retracted the projector screen before leaving the room. As he shut the door, his mind was still preoccupied with the conference. It was the fourteenth biennial International Conference on Nanoparticle and Space Technology. Bruce had insisted that he come to present his preliminary findings on a synthetic material he was researching. Peter had begun developing it as a junior in undergrad but was close to completing the development phases now for his Master’s degree. Of course, his undergraduate advisor would be a co-author…

Peter blinked, and stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk outside of the building. He forgot to even ask if Dr. Lang would be attending. It would obviously be a good idea to introduce him to Bruce, if they were both going to be in the same building for an entire week. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket as he continued walking toward the bus stop, composing a quick email.

_Hi Scott,_

_I hope your semester is going well! Sorry I haven’t been in touch more this year. MIT has been keeping me really busy. Will you be in San Diego next week for ICNST?_

_-Peter_

Peter kept glancing down at his screen as he quickened his pace for the bus. It was pulling in now, so he quickly tapped the “Send” icon before taking the stairs to the bus two at a time while he swiped his MIT student ID.

He slumped into a seat near the back, briefly wondering if he should have made a little more effort in the email. Cassie was graduating 8th grade this year, wasn’t she? Going into high school was a big deal, he should have mentioned it. Shaking his head, he tilted his head backward and hit the head rest with a little extra force. He was hard on himself. He may be 23, but he still felt like a dumb teenager most of the time. He vaguely wondered if that would ever go away, or if he’d always be a perfectionist.

The bus was pulling up to his stop. He didn’t live that far off campus, since he split the rent for his two-bedroom apartment with Ned. They’d managed to stay best friends despite all odds, and were now both in Massachusetts after going to different colleges after high school. You could say fate brought them together, but honestly it made sense; what better university was there for Ned, a computer science wizard, to get his grad degree than MIT?

Peter hopped up the stairs to his building with the bottomless energy, catching the door as someone was leaving to slip in instead of unlocking it himself. He jabbed the elevator door up arrow a few times and waited impatiently for the doors to slide open.

A neighbor down the hall, a pretty blonde with a Yorkie, smiled sweetly as she swept out of the elevator before Peter stepped in. She always batted her eyes in his direction even though they’d never had a substantial conversation. He never ignored her — ever the Knight of Polite as MJ would call him — but still, her flirting made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

The ride to the seventh floor was very slow, but when the doors finally opened again he only had a few steps to his apartment door. He turned his brass key in the lock and swung the door open to be greeted by the heavenly smell of fresh pizza.

“Ned!” Peter called out, “Dude, you’re my hero!” Backpack quickly shucked and shoes kicked off, he leapt into the kitchen to pop the pizza lid up and snag a slice of pepperoni. The pies here weren’t as great as New York, but pizza was pizza. Peter crammed half the slice into his mouth before biting down and chewing with gusto, cheeks rounded to accommodate the scandalous amount of food he had put inside.

“Sure thing, man!” Ned said from his position on the couch. Ned had grown up just as Peter had, getting taller and a little slimmer, but still recognizable by his sweet smile. “My mom is coming this weekend to visit, and you know she always brings tons of food. This one’s on me.”

Peter nodded, swallowing and trying not to choke. “Tell her thanks for me! I’m sad I’ll miss her this time.”

Peter saw Ned’s family as his own. That’s what having a childhood best friend was like. After a while, the lines between friendship and family were too blurred to matter. May thought of Ned as her own son too, but because of her work she couldn’t come up on weekends as frequently as Ned’s parents.

“Are you pumped for the conference next week, or what?” Ned asked, jamming buttons on his controller as he played a video game on their television.

The kitchen and living area were connected, so Peter perched on a stool by the counter while he kept eating his slice. “Yeah, I still have to pack though,” he replied while chewing. He looked to the oven to check the time. It was only 5:15, so there was no reason to rush.

“Don’t forget your best boxers,” Ned laughed, finally setting the controller down. The TV showed a pause screen. “I know you’re looking forward to rubbing elbows with Tony Stark.”

Peter blushed, “Dude! No. I’ll probably see him for like five seconds. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ned raised his eyebrows, looking over the back of the couch to Peter in the kitchen. “Ahuh. And you wouldn’t need more than five seconds with that guy to splooge your pants. No shade, man. We all have our demons.”

“New subject,” Peter ground out, face still hot, “You ready for finals?”

Ned shrugged, “I don’t think they’ll be too hard. My classes are mostly in languages I already know… Ruby, JavaScript… I’ll probably be productive next week anyway though, since you won’t be around to play video games with.”

“That’s true,” Peter said, although both of them had to cut back on gaming time once the semester ramped up last fall. Maybe over the summer they’d have a little more time to do it together.

“Do you think Tony Stark plays video games?” Ned teased, eyes already wandering back to the TV. He grabbed the controller.

Peter groaned, “I’ll be sure to ask him for you. I’m going to go shower and pack.” He got up from the stool and stretched, thinking he might also try to fit in a run tonight. It might help him sleep.

* * *

Sleep was a long time coming. Apprehensive about the coming trip, Peter tossed and turned until the hours of the clock were back to single digits. His dreams were filled with images of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man. He woke with a sheen of sweat over his lightly muscled chest to his alarm blaring at 5:00 am. Groggily, he slipped on the closest pair of jeans that were laying on his bedroom floor and grabbed a t-shirt from his dresser. He swam into a black hoodie with a Star Wars logo on the front, hopped up and down to slip socks on his feet, and put his phone in his pocket before grabbing the packed luggage. Peter tied his sneakers in silence by the front door and crept out of the apartment as quietly as he could to let Ned get the weekend sleep he couldn’t.

Waiting on the sidewalk outside, he hopped and rubbed his hands together. Even though it was already the middle of May, mornings were chilly in Massachusetts and today was no exception. Peter squinted down the road and hoped Quill would be here soon. A bass thump of music cued him to Quill’s approach before he could even see “The Milano” pulling up to the old apartment building. Quill’s Corvette was his pride and joy, and the custom racing stripes didn’t make it subtle.

Quill rolled a window down as Peter dipped his head to see inside. Loud music was playing, so he had to shout, “Trunk ok?” while gesturing to his luggage.

“Yeah!” Quill said, and popped the trunk. “Hurry up, Logan is probably going to be a madhouse.”

Peter quickly tossed his nondescript black rolling bag into the back, next to what he was assumed was Quill’s travel duffle. He must have bought it online, or had it made for him. The colors and sporty glossy material almost matched his Corvette perfectly.

Peter hopped in the passenger seat. “Morning,” he yawned.

“Buckle up,” Quill said. Peter barely had the buckle clipped before Quill revved the engine and took off down the road toward the highway going at least 20 miles per hour over the speed limit.

“Sleep okay?” Quill asked, making conversation.

“Well enough,” Peter replied, although he hadn’t slept well at all.

“Boy troubles?” Peter joked, smiling and glancing at his passenger while _I Feel for You_ by Chaka Khan blasted from the speakers.

Peter blushed. “Um,” was all he managed to get out. Quill sensed he wasn’t going to elaborate on the subject, so he decided to fill the gaps.

“Peter, sometimes you just gotta grab life by the horns.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter replied, his cheeks getting warm.

“Experience does make it easier,” Quill replied, seriously. “But look — you’ve fledged the nest. It’s time to grow. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t reach for it.”

Peter sighed. “I just don’t know the first thing about dating guys,” he admitted.

“It’s hard to believe, but at one point neither did I,” said Quill. Drawing his face into a mock stern face, he continued with a Scottish accent, “My job is to shepherd ye as a baby gay as I was once shepherded.”

That made Peter laugh, “Dude!”

They had reached the highway entrance, which was the equivalent to hyperdrive for Quill’s Corvette. “Hold tight,” he said, shifting and merging across three lanes. They were already going at least 100 miles per hour. For Peter, watching Quill drive was hypnotizing. He was a natural.

They sat in silence as the world flew by them, stereo switching to _In the Midnight Hour_ by Wilson Pickett. The funky bop had Quill tapping his fingers on the wheel like he wasn’t driving at speeds that could kill them both if he made a misstep.

_I'm gonna wait till the stars come out  
_ _And see that twinkle in your eyes_

“How much farther to the airport?” Peter asked, checking the time.

_I'm gonna wait till the midnight hour  
_ _That when my love begins to shine_

“Not long,” Quill said, grinning. It was mostly open road ahead of them now with little traffic. It was the weekend, so they were avoiding rush hour commuters and it was too early to run into typical weekend folks. He accelerated even faster. Peter’s heart jumped into his throat, and he closed his eyes.

* * *

Before Peter knew it, they were sitting on the plane. Peter had a coffee in-hand and croissant sitting pleasantly in his stomach, watching planes taxi outside from his window seat while Bruce and Quill made small talk in the seats beside him. As luck would have it, the three travelers fit conveniently in a row and none of them would have to awkwardly cross a stranger to reach the airplane restroom.

“You have an itinerary for the meetings this week, right?” Peter asked Bruce.

“Yes,” Bruce replied, pulling a printed copy of his conference schedule from his pocket. “I emailed this to both of you,” he said to his left, addressing Peter and Quill. “Conferences like these can get out of hand pretty quickly, given how many people will be there that we are likely to know.” He passed the paper to Quill for him to look over.

Quill whistled. “You’re booked!” he exclaimed.

By now, Quill and Bruce worked together like a well-oiled machine. Quill was in his third year in Bruce’s lab, and had helped him plan travel arrangements to conferences like the ICNST before. Glancing over the schedule, he began talking to Peter. “Look, we’ll both get a schedule of talks once we arrive in San Diego and check in to the conference. Most of your day will be spent attending short presentations by other students and professors. You’ll want to figure out which ones are the most relevant to your research and block out where to be. There are usually four to six rooms of talks happening simultaneously, and you can’t attend all of them. If you need help picking ones to go to, let me know.”

“Okay,” Peter nodded, still waiting for the caffeine to start working in his brain.

“Bruce has a few things blocked out we definitely need to go with him to,” Quill continued, pointing to colored squares on the schedule. “On Monday, there’s going to be a roundtable with some bigwigs. You’ll come with us to that. Looks like there is a poster session on Tuesday…”

Bruce interjected, “Both of you should network as much as possible this entire week. The more people you meet, the better. Monday’s roundtable will be important for that.”

“O-okay,” Peter said again, starting to feel a little like a broken record and a small child.

“Of course,” Quill continued, elbowing Peter, “you’re presenting on Wednesday, and we’ll both be there to see your talk. Bruce is presenting twice on Thursday.”

Bruce added, “And Friday we’ll be going on a field trip. That night is the closing ceremony banquet. Tony will be the keynote speaker… should be interesting.”

Peter felt a blush rising up his neck. Tony Stark. He would be seeing Tony Stark, live and in the flesh, in less than seven days. The infamously handsome genius billionaire, owner of Stark Industries and most eligible bachelor in America. To say Peter was excited was an understatement, but he was also nervous. He had been star-struck since first learning about Mr. Stark’s accomplishments as a freshman in undergrad, and his admiration and infatuation had not gone away.

“Any—,” Peter’s voice squeaked, so he coughed and cleared his throat, “Uh… anything else I need to know?”

Quill let out a jovial laugh at Peter’s voice cracking. “I’m leading a seminar on Tuesday for science communication on social media, but you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Other than that, I don’t think so.” Quill looked to Bruce.

Bruce shook his head, “That about sums it up, I think. Both of you remember to keep your receipts from this week for reimbursement. I'll cover food if we're out together, but if you buy lunch or dinner without me remember to keep a copy of your check."

"Got it," Peter replied.

The overhead lights flickered on and off and the plane made a pleasant chime. The lead stewardess stood in the aisle as the intercom crackled to life, "This is your pilot speaking. Welcome aboard United Airlines. We should be arriving in San Diego in six hours and fifteen minutes, approximately 11:00 am local time. We are expecting turbulence when crossing the Rocky Mountains, but until then please enjoy your flight and let an attendant know if you need anything."

The stewardess demonstrated how to use oxygen masks and indicated all of the emergency exit locations. Peter buckled his seat belt and gripped his thighs tightly as the plane began moving on the runway.

"Have you ever flown before, Peter?" Bruce asked.

"I haven't," Peter replied apprehensively.

"We'll be safe. The probability of a plane crash is less than one in twenty million, and survival rates of a crash are around ninety-six percent. It's very unlikely we _wouldn't_ make it to California. Try not to worry," he smiled softly.

"Man, you sound so nerdy right now," Quill chuckled, getting out his neck pillow from his backpack.

The plane was speeding up and Peter swallowed thickly. "Uh, thanks Dr. Banner," he winced, "I mean, Bruce." It was still hard for Peter to remember sometimes that the scientists he respected the most were comfortable with, and even expected, being on a first-name basis.

Quill continued with his pre-flight routine as the plane lifted from the tarmac. Peter's stomach lurched. They ascended while Quill settled an eye mask over his closed eyes and wiggled back into the comfort of his coach-class seat and plush neck support. Bruce retrieved a novel from his bag and set it on his lap, flipping it open to his bookmark.

Peter stared out his window, realizing the plane was now above the clouds and starting to become level with gravity once more. He loosened his grip and went fishing for his phone, which was already on airplane mode, and grabbed the earbuds from his jeans pocket. He picked one of his favorite road trip albums to listen to and spent the next six hours staring at the clouds. They were beautiful, pillowy, and had the illusion of solid softness even though they were made from just water droplets and dust. To think these beautiful shapes would not be possible without some kind of nucleus was sometimes mind-blowing. The vapor inside each cloud condensed at high altitudes, but without dust, or ice, or salt — all tiny, seemingly insignificant particles — they could not exist.

Peter watched the clouds go by for the majority of the trip, changing albums occasionally. At one point, he tried not to laugh when Quill started snoring and Bruce elbowed him awake. The stewardess delivered tiny packets of pretzels, and asked for drink orders so Peter asked politely and somewhat shocked, “Oh—hi! Um... can I— can I have a Coke, please?”

Bruce had hot tea, naturally, and spent the entire plane ride reading his thick novel. He closed it gently right before the turbulence hit, watching Peter reassuringly.

Quill woke as the plane jostled and he pushed his galaxy-print eye mask to his forehead with a yawn. “Are we there yet?” Quill asked, eyes squeezing shut involuntarily. They popped open and he looked to Peter, green eyes shining in the light from the window.

In another universe, Peter would have been head over heels for Quill. He was a gorgeous man. But Peter wouldn’t risk their friendship, and he broke eye contact without lingering, looking back to Bruce.

Bruce smiled, and said dryly to Quill, “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Good morning y’all,” Quill chuckled, and shrugged. “I was up most of last night working on my code, not going to pass up an opportunity for shut-eye.”

“We should be landing pretty soon,” Bruce responded, absentmindedly.

The intercom crackled to life once more, pilot confirming that indeed they would be touching down within fifteen minutes. Quill removed the pillow from his neck and cursed, “Fuck, I’ve gotta piss like a racehorse.”

“I can get your luggage for you once we land,” Peter offered.

“That’d be awesome,” Quill replied, with the corners of his lips turning down in discomfort.

Touching back down on the tarmac was a much less comfortable experience than taking off, Peter decided. The rush of going up had given him butterflies, but coming down was like the end of a roller coaster ride. Still, he was glad to be out of the sky.

The three replaced their belongings to their pockets and carry-on bags, waiting until all of the passengers ahead had slowly crept out of the aisles until they could begin their own slow parade.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Quill complained.

Peter smirked. Once they were finally out of the plane, Quill took off at a jog, head turning left and right to look for the nearest men’s room. Peter quickened his pace to fall in step with Bruce.

“Flying wasn’t half bad,” Peter said, trying to fill the air with words. Bruce wasn’t much of a conversationalist, at least not compared to Quill. He was always kind, though, and spoke when Peter needed him to. Their weekly office meetings were unfailingly productive. Peter was glad to have been chosen to work in such a fantastic lab environment.

“You’re lucky to feel that way, try not to lose it,” Bruce smiled, turning in the direction of baggage claim. “I’m afraid to admit, I fly so much I’m a little jaded. Is this your first time on the Pacific coast, too?”

“Yes,” Peter replied. “I’ve never left New England before, actually.”

“You’re in for a treat,” Bruce replied. They were arriving at their plane’s luggage carousel, metal shining brightly in the artificial lighting. The large glass windows surrounding them were no less illuminating, revealing to Peter it was still morning in their new time zone.

“The fish tacos will make up for the jet lag,” Bruce finished, eyes focused on the bags that were beginning to appear on the rotating metal plates.

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed, “That one is Quill’s.” He rushed forward to the glossy, striped duffel bag and grabbed the handles to pull it from the carousel. Jesus, it was heavy. What did Quill put in this thing, lead bricks?

Bruce spied his own green bag and placed it wheels-down on the floor before extending the handle. “Is yours here anywhere?” he asked.

“Uhhhh…”

“There it is,” Quill appeared, pointing. Peter’s bag had just emerged from behind the plastic flaps.

Quill took his luggage from Peter and said, “Thanks, Pete,” with a winning smile.

Peter waited for the carousel to bring his bag to where he was standing. Once they were all ready to roll out, they rode the escalator to the ground floor and breezed past a tiki-themed gift kiosk to the doors that would lead them to the bright outdoors.

“First thing’s first, we get the rental car,” Bruce narrated, steering them down the sidewalk to a shuttle stop.

* * *

Getting the rental car was easy. Bruce handled the whole ordeal while Peter and Quill stood patiently, watching seagulls fly by beneath the clear blue sky. They got a basic white SUV, which Quill complained about. Bruce drove while Quill cranked the radio in the passenger seat and Peter continued window-watching in the back. They pulled up to their hotel after driving for about twenty minutes.

“Wow,” Peter said. Bruce parked the car in front of the hotel. They got out of the car in a valet area paved with bricks — a half-circle driveway lined with porters and valet drivers expecting early check-ins, shaded partly by tall palm trees.

He’d never seen a living palm tree before.

Bruce opened the hatch at the back of their SUV and grabbed his green bag once more, “Let’s check in, guys,” he said, handing the keys to a valet driver.

Quill winked at Peter as he got his own bag. They walked into the lobby, a large open area with plush armchairs and couches that led to a grand view through large glass windows at the back of the hotel. They were staying next to the water — a marina, actually — and the tops of sailboats were visible from where they stood at the reception desk.

“Good morning!” was all Peter heard the bright receptionist say before suddenly, Quill squeezed his shoulder and Peter realized Bruce was already walking toward the elevator. He’d been staring out at the water and was just brought back to reality.

“Come on,” Quill said, “Let’s see where our room is! With any luck, we’ll have a view of the pool.” He waggled his eyebrows to get Peter to laugh, and they walked after Bruce in the direction of the elevators.

Their room was on a different floor than Bruce’s, which Quill assured Peter was a good thing. Quill opened their door with a key card and swung it open wide to reveal their new shared place for the next seven nights.

“Not bad,” Quill assessed, dropping his duffel bag unceremoniously on the bed closest to the door and immediately heading for the balcony. He unlocked and opened the sliding door to step out. Peter could already smell the salt in the air as a breeze came in. The grey-blue carpets were a nice compliment to how utterly… _blue_ San Diego was. The walls were a pleasant bluish-white, and uninspired watercolor paintings of seashells decorated the walls. Peter set his bag on the floor by the other bed and joined Quill on the balcony.

“You were right,” Peter said, looking down at a view of the pool. The air was warm, and a few people were already stretched out in the sun, relaxing on reclining chairs in their swimsuits. A palm tree grew fifteen feet from railing, and Peter watched as a hummingbird zoomed around the leaves and then vanished. “Jeez, Quill. This is crazy,” he added.

“Welcome to San Diego,” Quill replied.

* * *

That night, Peter and Quill ordered pizzas and ate in their room. Quill had cheesy rom-coms playing on the television and was kicked back on his bed drinking a Ballast Point IPA while he made conversation with Peter. “Lab bonding” he had called it. Bruce told them he would be busy that night making last-minute changes to his conference presentations before the busy week started, so they could do whatever they felt like. Quill wanted to borrow the SUV, but Bruce had definitively and decisively replied, “No.”

So they walked to Domino’s Pizza and got two six packs from the gas station.

“You know,” Peter mused, “This is the second day in a row I’ve had pizza. But I don’t even care. I think I could probably eat pizza every day and not get sick of it.”

“I know what _I_ could eat every day and not get sick of,” Quill snorted.

Peter blushed and took a sip of his own beer to fill his embarrassed lack of response.

Quill looked down and over to where Peter was sitting cross-legged on the carpet in-between their beds. “So. Peter,” Quill began, staring at him with a soft analytical look. Peter’s face blushed even harder. He knew the conversation was steering toward personal waters.

“Girls really don’t do anything for you?” Quill asked.

“N-no. Not really. No,” Peter replied, swigging another sip. He was going to need to finish his beer faster to make this conversation easier.

“That’s crazy,” Quill replied, turning his gaze to the ceiling. “I mean, it’s weird to me. I can’t imagine only being attracted to one sex. That part has always confused me about straight people. I feel like they’re definitely missing out.” He looked back at Peter. “But being full-on gay, that seems like it would kind of suck too.”

Peter shrugged, blush finally calming as he slid his paper pizza plate away and stretched his legs out to take advantage of the space.

“But hey,” Quill continued, realizing he may have been a little insensitive, “the gays have done a lot to build a community for people like you and I. I know what it’s like to have part of you be a little weird and queer. Honestly, that part of myself I wouldn’t trade for anything. And I really hope to show you that embracing it is the best way to love yourself.”

Quill always got a little sappy when he was drinking.

“Thanks Quill,” Peter smiled genuinely up at him. He leaned back into the side of his bed. He stretched an arm up and set his hand on top of his brown waves to ruffle his own hair. “Coming out wasn’t that bad. Not as bad as I thought it would be by a long shot, you know? My friends Ned and MJ have known since we were in high school, but Aunt May was really supportive too once I came out in undergrad.”

“Coming out is the hardest part,” Quill agreed.

“It’s just… it’s great to have you around because I don’t know that many people that are gay,” Peter said.

Quill nodded sagely.

“And dating has always gone... bad,” Peter wrinkled his nose, “I feel like when I was going out at Cornell, everyone I met was just another backstabbing queen.”

“They can be like that,” Quill laughed, “But we’re in a pretty gay state now, maybe you’ll meet someone here.” He winked, “Let’s see what we can do about finding you a hunk.”

“Oh god,” Peter groaned. The last thing he needed was Quill playing matchmaker. Well… then again, he hadn’t had very much luck himself so far. Maybe outsourcing some help wasn’t a terrible idea.

“Do you have a type?” Quill asked.

“Well,” Peter sucked in his bottom lip, letting his arm fall to rest on the top of the bed. “I guess so. Tall dark and handsome is pretty much my go-to.”

“No blondes?” Quill gasped, hand to his chest, looking dramatically hurt.

Peter laughed, “No offense.”

Quill’s face changed into a genuine smile, “None taken.” He sat up and reached into his bag to pull out a laptop, then opened it on his lap as he scooted over in the bed. He patted the mattress next to him and added, “Okay, grab me another beer. We’re going hunk hunting.”

Peter obliged.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is introduced in this chapter! Peter also gets to meet a few other Avengers.

Peter woke to the sweet sound of a bird song he’d never heard before. Groaning, he pried an eyelid open. He had passed out on his stomach, crushing his right arm. It was asleep from the shoulder down. Peter rolled onto his back and the arm flopped uselessly off his body. He rubbed it with his other hand as pins and needles alerted his nervous system that blood was returning life to his appendage.

He groggily looked around the room, realizing he was still wearing the same pair of jeans and hoodie from the day before. The pizza box was still open on the floor, half-eaten Hawaiian slices exposed to the hotel room air. And, by god, the outside world was _way_ too bright.

“Ugh,” Peter muttered, checking the time on the clock positioned on the bedside table. It was 6:20 am. What the fuck.

Oh. 

Time change.

Peter looked from the clock to the three empty beer bottles on Quill’s side of the night stand. Quill himself was passed out on his back in his own bed, the laptop presumably safely returned to his bag. They had stayed up late googling actors and getting sucked into YouTube clips of their favorite movie scenes. Peter vaguely remembered them drunkenly singing to a Todrick Hall music video together before they both passed out.

“Quill,” Peter croaked.

He twitched.

“Quill,” Peter croaked louder.

“Whaaa _aaaaaat_?,” Quill moaned deeply back.

“It’s the morning,” Peter informed him.

“Go back to sleep,” Quill muttered, attempting to use the smallest amount of energy possible.

“But we’re in California,” Peter replied, energy ramping up.

“Oh my god, I take it back. You’re worse than Drax. I’m rooming with the Energizer Bunny,” Quill groaned. 

“Let’s go get brunch. We can order mimosas,” Peter offered, propping up on one elbow. 

“PETER!” Quill moaned, rolling away and pulling the pillow over his face.

Pouting, Peter sat up and looked around. He supposed he could shower and change before trying to wake Quill again. Getting up, he opened his luggage on the bed and rummaged for his toiletries bag. 

* * *

Peter hummed to himself as he lounged by the pool in the warm sunshine. He wasn’t sure life could get much better than this. The palm trees swayed above and the air smelled fresh. Quill had been hopelessly too hungover to do anything all morning, so when Bruce knocked on their door at 8 o’clock to ask if Peter wanted to check out the hotel's continental breakfast, he jumped at the chance. Over breakfast, he let Bruce know that Scott Lang had replied to his e-mail and would indeed be at the conference this week too. Peter promised to introduce them to each other.

Quill slept until ten, only stirring after Peter had returned to their room and started subconsciously sighing loudly every five minutes out of boredom. He was trying to stay busy, unsuccessfully, by reading some new scientific publications that were on his to-do list. 

After eating some room-temperature, leftover greasy pizza and taking a long shower, Quill was as refreshed as he was going to get and insisted they both go downstairs to the pool.

It was a little after noon when Bruce appeared in his usual button-up and pants, a stark contrast to the shirtless students lazing in the sunshine. “Hey,” Bruce said, “Just so you know, I’ll be meeting a colleague of mine for happy hour in a little while. You should both come. We can check in to the conference downtown and meet her for food and drinks. She’s bringing one of her students who may be interested in joining our lab.”

Quill perked up, “We’re hanging out with Natasha?” 

Bruce smiled, “Yes. At three. Meet me in the lobby around 2:15.”

“Sounds great,” Peter replied. 

Bruce turned to leave, and Peter waited until he was out of earshot before turning to ask Quill, “Who’s Natasha?”

“Dr. Romanov,” Quill replied, with a shrug. “Her and Bruce go way back.”

“What does she study?”

“Her research speciality is textile development. She’s mainly funded by the government so a lot of the stuff she makes is for tactical applications. The last time I met her she talked about something she made that’s completely fireproof,” Quill said. “You’ll probably like her.”

“Oh, cool,” Peter replied, impressed, “Well, you ready to take a swim? I think we probably only have time to get in one more time.”

“Nah, dude,” Quill replied, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. He was still recovering from the night before.

Peter shrugged and jumped in, hoping he managed to get Quill wet with the splash.

* * *

Natasha was a beautiful woman. She sat next to Bruce in their half-circle booth, and the two had been absorbed in conversation with each other since she and her student had arrived to meet them at the restaurant.

Her student was more than happy to talk to Quill and Peter.

“Hi, my name is Shuri!” she greeted them, sticking out her arm for a handshake. 

“Hi Shuri,” Peter smiled, shaking her hand.

“Hey Shuri. I’m Quill, this is Peter,” Quill said by way of introduction. “How are you? Did you guys check in yet?”

“Yes, we just came from the convention center,” Shuri replied.

“Us too,” said Peter, pointing to his new International Conference on Nanoparticle and Space Technology canvas tote bag. “Are you presenting here this week?”

Shuri sat at the end of the horseshoe-shaped booth. Natasha had taken the other end, sandwiching in the Banner lab trio. Shuri nodded in response as she took off her jacket, “Yes, I’ll be giving a poster presentation. I am working with Dr. Romanov on a new textile that can absorb kinetic energy and I am excited to finally be presenting it.”

“Wow, very cool. Did you travel far?” Peter asked.

“We flew in from New York this morning,” Shuri replied, “but I have traveled farther than that to get here.” Shuri laughed, her face lighting up, “I am from Wakanda.” 

Peter’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s— that’s— really cool,” finishing lamely.

Quill interjected, “Kinetic energy, huh? So you’re thinking about expanding on this technology with Bruce?”

“Yes,” Shuri said, “I am hopeful I can improve upon my design to get a PhD in your lab after I complete my Master’s this month with Dr. Romanov. It is possible to release the kinetic energy strategically, however that aspect is beyond the scope of my current research project.”

Quill nodded, “Well let me know if you ever want to spitball. The applications for storing kinetic energy in layers sounds like it might have unlimited applications.” Quill’s eyes glazed over as he considered the use for spacecrafts; could the energy from drag be harnessed and used later as backup fuel? 

“What are you researching…? Peter, right?” Shuri asked, leaning forward. Her large gold bangle earrings shone pleasantly and provided aesthetic counterweight to her artfully arranged updo. 

“I’ve created a synthetic version of spider silk that has a higher tensile strength than the real thing,” Peter replied, “It’s less dense.”

“The guy’s a brainiac,” Quill praised, ruffling Peter’s hair. 

Peter looked indignantly back at Quill..

“That is very interesting,” Shuri replied, thoughtful. “We have a similar synthetic in Wakanda, but I don’t believe it is actually stronger than spider silk.”

“You do?” Peter replied, deflating. As far as he knew, he was the first one to have worked on developing this sort of material.

“Yes,” Shuri replied, “it was funded by Tony Stark.”

All of the blood drained out of Peter’s face, “W-wh… I’m sorry, what?”

Quill raised an eyebrow, “Stark is interested in synthetic proteins? That’s new. I didn’t think his work overlapped with biochemistry at all.”

“He specifically contacted our lab to begin developing it,” Shuri replied. “We never figured out a better configuration of proteins than spiders can produce themselves, though. I would be interested to see your protein contact map.”

Peter nodded quite vigorously, “Yes, sure, absolutely. Anytime.”

Quill supplied, “Peter is giving a talk on Wednesday, you should come.”

“I will,” Shuri assured them both with another kind smile, and turned as the waitress arrived with two orders of onion rings.

“Oh, uh,” Bruce interrupted the server before she placed them in the center of the table, “I’m sorry, but we didn’t order those.”

The waitress nodded to her left, still holding the plates, “Someone at the bar sent them over.”

The five heads at the booth craned to see who she was referring to.

“Dr. Lang!” Peter exclaimed, seeing him approach their table from the half-crowded bar. It wasn’t anywhere near typical rush for the restaurant, but almost everyone attending this week’s conference must have had the same idea; check in at the conference center, walk a block, get some beers and catch up with friends.

“I couldn’t resist making a dramatic gesture when I realized Peter was here, sorry,” Dr. Scott Lang announced as he approached. “I know Pete loves his onion rings. I’m Scott,” he offered his hand to Bruce with a small smile as the waitress set down the food.

“Bruce,” Bruce replied, grasping Scott’s hand. “This is Natasha Romanov,” Bruce continued, gesturing to his right before turning to his left to add, “and these are our students. Quill is mine, Shuri came here with Natasha.”

“A pleasure,” Scott replied. 

The booth was full, but a waitress appeared with a stool from the bar, realizing he would probably want to stay and talk with them since he had carried his half-finished cider with him. “Thank you,” he said to her as he took the seat, placing it next to Natasha to be a little more out-of-the-way.

“It’s great to see you,” Peter beamed. Scott was his first mentor outside of high school. Peter harbored a lot of respect and admiration for him, and in a lot of ways felt Scott was as close to a father figure as he might get.

“Same to you, kid,” Scott replied.

“Natasha?”

Everyone’s head swiveled simultaneously. A man in his forties stood by their table, having just done a double take as he was following the hostess to the back of the restaurant.

“Clint, great to see you!” Natasha crooned. She stood gracefully, moving in front of Scott as if he wasn’t even in the way, to embrace Clint with a hug.

“Shuri, this is Dr. Barton,” Natasha said, inadvertently introducing Clint to the group although she only addressed her student. “He’s the one I told you about from CIT.” Turning back, she asked, “Goodness, did you just drive here from Pasadena?”

“Got here about half an hour ago,” he replied. 

Shuri turned to Peter and Quill to murmur, “Dr. Barton and Natasha earned their doctorates together.”

As Natasha and Clint became wrapped up in conversation, standing by the table, Scott slid from his chair into the booth by Bruce to start asking him about his research and how Peter was doing in his lab. The restaurant was slowly filling with more and more people, and Peter quickly realized how small the science world could be when everyone doing research decided to go to the same city. He wondered how many other people would arrive at this particular restaurant and see someone they knew without planning it, and a small part of him wondered if Tony Stark might appear out of thin air too.

He was not so lucky, but Peter certainly enjoyed himself for the remainder of the evening. The group stayed for a few rounds of drinks, and those that were hungry ordered off the menu. Scientists passed occasionally, waving at Bruce, or Dr. Lang, or Dr. Romanov, or Dr. Barton. They were all well-known in this circle and would likely have a multitude of people to catch up with or wave to this entire week. It slowly started to dawn on Peter why Bruce had created a schedule to block out time for every minute of his day. 

Before long, the time came for everyone to start heading back to their hotels. Bruce paid for everything Quill and Peter ordered, and after saying “see you tomorrow” to nearly everyone, they took their leave. Peter was excited. Tomorrow was the first real day of the conference, and it was already off to a really great start.

* * *

Peter’s alarm went off at 7 o’clock. Startled and panicked that he had slept in too long, he jerked awake, flailing to turn off his phone chime and to check the time. He breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that it was still early, and slumped down onto his bare chest. Peter had thrown off his shirt in the middle of the night — unaccustomed to sleeping under such a plush comforter that kept him warm so well — and was only wearing pajama pants. 

Now that his panic had subsided, he realized with horror he had a raging morning wood just as Quill groaned to consciousness in the bed beside him. “Morning Quill!” he exclaimed with forced cheer. He sprang off of his mattress before Quill had the chance to open his eyes, striding quickly toward the bathroom while rushing to say, “Do you need the bathroom yet? No? Ok, great I’mgonnatakeashowerbye!” and slammed the door shut behind him.

Peter wasted no time after locking the door to crank the hot water in the shower and strip. Boner bouncing in the light emanating from the vanity bulbs above the wide mirror, he assessed his naked body while waiting for the water to heat up. He flexed his abs a little, then turned to check out his butt. Although he had a slight frame, he was still muscular, and looked like a healthy young man. He didn’t think physical appearances were holding him back from finding a boyfriend… but tried to boost his self-confidence at times like these nonetheless.

Realizing the room was now steamy, he stepped into the shower and jerked the curtain closed behind him. He grabbed the shampoo, telling himself he wouldn’t jack off if his boner managed to flag by the time he was done washing his hair. But Peter’s hair was short and it took all of sixty seconds for the shampoo to have been lathered, rinsed, and not repeated. The weight of his cock made him horny, even though he wasn’t particularly turned on when he woke up. Squeezing his eyes shut as the hot water cascaded down his back, Peter squeezed a little body wash in his hand and made quick strokes of his problem. He didn’t want to be the reason he and Quill were late. 

After brushing his teeth and wrapping a towel around his waist, he emerged from the bathroom with his wet hair sticking in several directions and a rosy coloration on his chest and back from the hot water. “Your turn,” he said to Quill as he reached his luggage and tried to decide what to wear. 

Quill rolled wordlessly off of his bed and staggered into the room Peter had just left. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the mid-thirties hod-rod-loving scientist was everything but a morning person. 

Peter quickly stepped into a fresh pair of boxers and chose some understated khaki pants, brown leather shoes, and a red-and-blue plaid button up to wear for his first conference day. As a finishing touch, he looped his name tag around his head. The lanyard was made of soft cotton and ended in a plastic square that rested in the center of his chest. The paper inside labeled him “PETER PARKER”, with descriptors below reading “STUDENT PRESENTER” and “MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY”. He couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride at finally getting to wear something so official.

Quill finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing only boxers and waving a hand in front of his nose, “Dude, definitely don’t go back in there.”

Peter’s face morphed into a look of resigned disgust and replied simply, “Gross.”

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” Quill replied, rummaging through his duffel bag for clothes to wear. 

“Hey, what time does the plenary start?” Quill asked Peter, sniffing a pair of dark jeans before deciding they were acceptable and yanking them up onto his body.

“Eight,” Peter replied, not even needing to check the schedule on the app he’d downloaded on his phone for the conference. “I think we have time.”

A knock rapped loudly on their hotel door, and Peter frowned. “Or maybe not. I’ll keep him busy,” he told Quill, heading to answer the summons.

Peter opened the door to the hallway and stepped out, greeting Bruce. “Good morning!” he said brightly. 

“Good morning, Peter,” Bruce replied. “Is Quill ready yet?”

“Uh, n-no, not quite yet,” Peter answered, glancing back at the door nervously.

“I’m not surprised,” Bruce replied dryly, checking his watch. “Look, I really need to be at this plenary on time. You can wait for Quill or walk to the conference center with me, but don’t forget to be at the roundtable session scheduled for after lunch today. It’s a very important meeting and I want you both there.”

Peter nodded quickly as Bruce was speaking. “Yeah, yeah, right, uh—that’s in—that’s going to be in the Nebula Room, right?”, he supplied in an attempt to show his mentor that he was, in fact, prepared.

“Correct,” Bruce nodded. “I’m leaving, why don’t you just wait for Quill? That way you can sit together,” he added.

“Sounds good, we’ll catch up with you,” Peter replied.

Wasting no time, Bruce turned and headed toward the hotel elevator. Sighing, Peter grabbed his room key from his pocket and opened their room to check on Quill. “Are you coming!?” he shouted in, door still half open with his body unwilling to cross the threshold, as if that would somehow signify a reverse of progress.

“Just a minute,” Quill responded, hopping to force his foot into his other boot and succeeding on the second hop with a satisfying _thuck_. 

Quill stood triumphantly, fully dressed complete with his usual leather jacket, and donned his lanyard and grabbed his phone. “Let’s go!”

* * *

Quill and Peter made it to the plenary session only a few minutes after the hour. The auditorium they entered was huge, lights dimmed, with stairs and seats leading down to what looked like quite a small stage compared to the vastness of the room. People were packed into the seats on the lowest level, but the duo crept only a few steps down before finding their places in the balcony to reduce the commotion of coming in late.

After lowering themselves into neighboring velvet-lined seats, Peter looked to Quill and whispered, “This is awesome.”

Quill just nodded, focused on the presentation occuring dozens of feet below. The slides were advancing as the speaker continued, outlining her decades of research on fuel cells and renewable technology. The woman was wearing a navy skirt suit appropriate for her age — she was in her sixties, at least — but she held herself with confidence and spoke into the mic with a pleasant and reassuring cadence.

They sat in silence for an hour to watch the duration of the lecture. Quill and Peter contributed to applause at the end of the session, only excusing themselves once questions started since they were too high up to really hear what inquiries were being asked anyway.

“What’d you think?” Quill asked, heading to the coffee station that had appeared conveniently outside the entry doors.

“It blew my mind a little,” Peter admitted, getting a disposable cup for himself and waiting until Quill was done with the carafe. “I didn’t realize how much progress that field has made,” he added.

Quill stirred sugar and cream into his steaming up, focusing most of his attention on the caffeine but continuing to chat with Peter, “Carol Danvers is a legend. To be completely honest, I’m surprised she was chosen for the plenary and not the keynote session.” 

Quill tapped his wooden stirring stick on the lip of his cup to retain every last drop of coffee before disposing of it in the trash bin next to the table. Quill added, “Then again, Stark has done amazing things over the years, too.”

Peter blew on the surface of his coffee, training his eyes the dark liquid he preferred to drink black. The tables supplied with coffee were starting to be swarmed by other conference-goers and he didn’t want to get stuck on the topic of Stark just yet.

Since Peter didn’t respond, Quill changed the subject. “Did you pick out the talks you’re going to, yet? They start at 9:15.”

After they each grabbed a mystery-flavored scone, Peter and Quill took a few steps away from the coffee table to accommodate everyone else who wanted some.

“Oh — yeah,” Peter replied. For this, he’d need to check the conference app. Peter pulled out his phone and scrolled until he reached the page for Monday. 

“So I think I’m probably going to be in the Comet Room until lunch time,” Peter replied, looking up to Quill. “That’s the textile development session. It seems closer to my research than the other ones — I’m guessing you’ll be in the Moon Room for the engineering talks?”

“Yup,” Quill answered. “I think Bruce will be with me for that too. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Never a time like the present to fledge,” Peter answered. 

“That’s the spirit,” Peter winked. 

“I’ll see you after lunch, then,” Peter replied, quickly stepping to snatch a lid for his coffee cup, realizing he’d have to walk quickly to catch the first presentation on the other side of the conference building. “I have that mentor thing going on today,” Peter added, “but I won’t be late to the round table. See you.”

Lid pressed securely, he waved to Quill and side-stepped the milling scientists to head toward his next destination. 

* * *

The textiles session was really interesting. Peter sat next to Shuri and decided that Dr. Romanov’s talk was actually the best and most innovative, even without a bias from meeting her the night before. The fifteen-minute talks sped by quickly and Peter realized the session was over sooner than he thought three hours could realistically pass.

“Do you have lunch plans?” Shuri asked Peter as they both stood, stretching from having sat for so long in the tiny presentation room. 

“I’m signed up for the mentor-mentee lunch,” Peter replied. “Although I haven’t actually found out who my mentor is yet.” 

“Ah, yes. I am signed up for that too,” Shuri replied with a smile. “Shall we walk together to the rendezvous point?”

“Sure,” Peter replied, stopping to toss his empty coffee cup into the nearest recycle bin. He felt lucky to have made a new friend so fast at this conference. Shuri was really nice.

When they arrived at the meeting area, Peter looked around to try and assess where he was supposed to go. There were a few people that looked like they might be professors making conversation on the other side of a majestic water fountain, near the pillars supporting the roof above. Directly next to the fountain, a young woman with red hair peered closely at the print on her clipboard. 

She looked up from the clipboard to observe the students filtering out of the building. The woman greeted all of them with a slight accent. “Hello, everyone. If I could have your attention please, my name is Wanda Maximoff and I am one of this year’s ICNST coordinators. If you’re here for the mentor-mentee lunch, you made it to the right place.”

Realizing this was their signal, the professors stepped away from one another and turned toward the students. Most of the students — there were only a dozen or two of them, really — had brought their conversations down from a loud banter to a low whisper in order to hear the next steps.

“I’ll call your name and announce who your mentor is, at which point they will raise their hand,” she twisted back to look at them and nodded, “and you can go to them to find out where your lunch will be held. The pre-paid tickets inside your name tag will be accepted by the restaurant you have been assigned.”

Wanda looked down at her clipboard and continued without missing a beat, “Shuri, Paul, and Sabastian, you’ll be with Dr. Benedict Wong.”

A round man sporting a nice suit and a buzz cut raised his hand. He didn’t smile. “Good luck,” Peter muttered to Shuri, lightly elbowing her arm.

Wanda continued rattling off names and assignments until the next six professors were introduced to their students. Nearly everyone was walking away at that point, at which time Wanda finished, “And last but not least, Chris, Adam, and Peter will be paired with Dr. Stephen Strange.”

Peter looked to his left and right quickly, not seeing anyone at all. 

“Oh,” Wanda said, also seeing there was only one student left. Dr. Strange left his position on the other side of the fountain, nearing Wanda to see what the issue was. “Doesn’t look like they’ve checked in to the conference yet. I suppose they may be having travel delays,” Wanda said.

Glancing at Peter’s name tag, Wanda’s gaze dropped back to the clipboard before declaring, “Well, Peter, this is Dr. Strange. He’ll be your mentor for lunch. Greenleaf is expecting you.”

Dr. Strange was dressed well, wearing a blazer over a blue button-up. He was so tall he practically towered over Peter, but was quick to step forward and meet his hand in a handshake. “Call me Stephen. Shall we?” he asked, sweeping his hand to the side. An expensive-looking watch glittered on his wrist as the sleeve moved up his arm.

Peter nodded, “S-sure, yes. Nice to meet you.” He began walking in the direction Stephen indicated.

The restaurant they were assigned had seated the two men on the patio. Peter sipped an iced tea as they made conversation about his goals to make a career as a scientist.

“I’ve been in Bruce’s lab for a year now at MIT,” Peter said.

“Master’s or PhD?” Stephen asked, reading over the menu.

“Master’s,” Peter replied, “but I think I would like to get a PhD and become a professor eventually.”

“Is there a reason you aren't in a PhD track program, then? If you know you want a doctorate, skipping a Master’s defense saves time,” Stephen said.

“I know, but…” Peter licked his lips, “Well, I started my research in undergrad, and I’m looking forward to finishing it so I can move onto something else for a PhD project. I’m just not sold on working with the same material for basically ten years.”

“That makes sense,” Stephen had apparently decided what he wanted already, and placed his menu on the table. Noticing their change in posture, the server came quickly and took down their orders on a notepad. As Strange pointed out his selection to the waiter, his hands trembled slightly. Catching the movement, Peter noticed scars tracing every visible surface of Stephen’s hands. 

“So what have you been researching?” Stephen asked, sitting back and breaking Peter out of his thoughts.

Stephen rested his fingertips on his graying temples, slicked back neatly. His eyes were piercing and demeanor unemotional.

“I-I’m basically developing a synthetic protein that behaves like spider silk,” Peter replied.

Stephen raised his eyebrows. For the first time, he seemed actually interested.

“Spider silk,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Peter continued, “I started with Dr. Lang at Cornell, and took the work with me to MIT. I used to think my organic synthesis was the first of its kind, but I actually found out yesterday that someone worked on it in Wakanda too.” 

“Very interesting,” Stephen replied, face unreadable, “What’s its tensile strength?”

“U-uhm…,” Peter stammered, “It’s about 1.9 gigapascals.”

“Well then,” Strange replied, “It’s a very good thing you’ll be attending the roundtable this afternoon.” He smiled wryly.

“Oh,” Peter furrowed his brow, “You’re going to that?”

“Yes,” Stephen replied, “Most of the people attending go way back. I know Bruce from some work we’ve done together in the past. I find it interesting he failed to mention his new student’s research to me.”

Suddenly realizing that there were things going on outside of Peter’s control, and that he was quickly becoming wrapped up in it, he looked down at the table. 

The waiter suddenly appeared with their salads, and Peter was grateful for the distraction. He made sure to spend a lot of time chewing each big bite so that his responses to the rest of Dr. Strange’s questions could be few and far between. Peter already felt like he had somehow revealed too much.

“Well then,” Stephen declared, pushing his plate away and tossing his napkin on top. “If you leave your meal ticket with me, I’ll be sure to tip the server.”

The check hadn’t arrived yet, but Peter was essentially done eating and grateful for a chance to escape. “Much appreciated,” Peter replied, standing, “Thank you for lunch.”

Stephen smiled, eyes slightly narrowing, “No, thank _you_.”

* * *

Peter was out of breath when he opened the glass entry door to the conference venue. It was only a few steps down the vast room until he reached the Nebula Room. He stopped, breathing hard next to Quill, who had been making small talk with Natasha. “Quill,” Peter said breathlessly, “Can I talk to you?”

Looking confused and slightly annoyed, but nevertheless worried, Quill nodded. Natasha took the hint and moved on to speak with another group of people Peter had never seen before. “I think I may have made Bruce look bad,” Peter told Quill, looking around to see if anyone could overhear.

“What are you talking about? And why are you out of breath?” Quill asked.

“I— I ran here. That’s not the point,” Peter added, finally beginning to speak a little normally.

“I had lunch with Stephen Strange,” Peter continued.

Quill’s eyes grew wide. “And?”

“And I think he wasn’t supposed to know about my research, but I didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to know until after I told him,” Peter said in a rush.

“That doesn’t really make any sense,” Quill replied.

“I know, Quill!” Peter whisper-shouted, “But I’m telling you! Something is going on and we have to fix it!”

“Whatever it is, Bruce will handle it,” Quill assured Peter. He looked around the hallway, but realized Bruce was on the other side of the conglomerate of people. “We might have to wait and tell him after the roundtable, though, there’s not much time until it starts.”

As if on cue, Peter saw a dark-haired man swing the same conference door open that Peter had just come through. He swept into the hallway, walking with so much confidence Peter couldn’t stop staring at him. Quill cocked an eyebrow, then turned as Tony Stark spoke in a jovial voice to the people assembled, “Well hello, everyone. Am I late to my own meeting?”

“Of course you are, Tony,” Bruce laughed and went up to him to give him a quick hug and pat on the back.

“Well, let’s begin. No time like the present,” Tony smiled winningly, eyes hidden behind rose-colored glasses. His hair was short but styled to have volume and height, artfully swept and looking wind-whipped. His salt-and-pepper beard was groomed to its distinctive shape. Peter was having a hard time breathing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Tony.

“Come on,” Quill grabbed Peter’s shoulder and steered him into the small conference room behind everyone else. 

One foot in front of the other. Right, that’s how Peter was supposed to walk.

The room was used for presentations that morning, but had been rearranged over lunch with the chairs in a circle around an empty center. Quill and Peter took their seats at the roundtable-sans-table next to Bruce.

Peter swallowed nervously and quickly assessed who else was in the room. 

Scott Lang had chosen a seat to the right of Bruce. Natasha and Clint were across from them, sitting with Shuri. A dark-skinned man sat beside Shuri that Peter didn’t recognize. 

The only other person in attendance that Peter had seen before was Dr. Carol Danvers, the plenary speaker from that morning. She was in a group of people seated to the right of Scott that Peter didn’t know. Wanda Maximoff stood in the corner by the door, clipboard held under one arm with her hands crossed in front of her body. 

Tony took his place standing furthest from the door, to the left of Peter. There was nobody between the two of them. Tony was standing just feet away. Peter felt his skin tingle.

With a quick smirk, Tony said, “Welcome to our officially, uh, unofficial... biennial roundtable.” He gave a slight bow with hands raised to sides. He was dressed in sneakers, jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black blazer. The perfect line between an unprofessional businessman and rich billionaire scientist. 

“As you are all aware,” Tony continued, “We are quickly approaching our deadline. I’ve been working closely with Carol, Fury, and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodey,” he gestured outward toward Dr. Danvers, palm stretched upward and moving his hand slightly to acknowledge her, a man with an eye patch, and a man dressed in a military uniform, “as the launch date approaches.”

“It’s been what— almost eighty years since this started?” Tony asked.

Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “And yet we’re still facing some serious challenges to ensure the space station is deployed successfully.”

Tony suddenly pulled a small black cube from his blazer pocket and threw it to the carpet in the center of the group. As soon as it finished rolling, a holographic blue schematic appeared in the middle of the assembled scientists.

Peter gasped. It was almost imperceptibly quiet, but Quill noticed and smirked at Peter.

Someone dimmed the lights. The hologram rotated slowly so that everyone would be able to make out the layers being illustrated. 

“You are all here,” Tony continued, “Because your research is essential to the successful creation and subsequent use of this space station.”

“My father, Howard Stark, started this project with the U.S. military under the supervision of Captain Steve Rogers during World War II. It’s taken this long for us to have the technology to actually create it.”

“They made great strides with the help of Dr. Hank Pym, Scott’s mentor,” Tony gave Dr. Lang a slight incline of his head. “By the way— good to see you here today, Scott.” 

Turning back to the room, Tony continued, “The applications required of the station have grown as time has passed. It has necessitated an unimaginable amount of time and effort, and we have used all of your most cutting-edge technology to help it become a success.”

“But there’s still one problem,” Tony said.

“Flexibility,” a voice interjected.

Peter turned his head to see who had spoken. It was the man sitting next to Shuri.

“Yes, T’Challa. And you have been more than helpful with providing research manpower— excuse me, man _and_ woman-power—,” Tony joked, “plus countless hours needed to investigate solutions—”

“Using my formula,” a deep voice said, full of darkness. 

Peter shivered.

Stephen Strange took a few steps from the door into the room. He had come in without Peter noticing.

“Stephen. What are you talking about?” Tony retorted, crossing his arms.

“Synthetic spider silk,” Stephen said. 

Tony clenched his jaw and huffed through his nose. 

Peter paled.

“I know you had my formula outsourced to Wakanda,” Stephen seethed. 

“That decision was entirely within my purview—” Tony began, brow furrowing.

“No, it was not,” Stephen thundered. “Did you think I wouldn't find out?” Stephen's face was illuminated with blue light from the plans hovering in the center of the room. He pointed a finger accusingly, mouth turned into a sneer, head tilting and eyes narrowing with barely-contained rage. “This was my work that I shared with you, and you agreed it would not be outsourced.”

“Stephen, please—” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Not only have you involved the government of Wakanda with this, but Banner and Lang are in violation as well,” Stephen continued, “This was a _proprietary design_ , Tony.” 

“Woah, woah, woah, I am not involved in this at all,” Dr. Lang waved his arms and interjected, realizing he was being dragged into the debacle.

“You’re not?” Stephen rounded on him, “You know, I had a very pleasant lunch with a mentee today. I hear your student Peter’s organic synthesis has yielded a product _superior_ ,” Stephen leaned forward and pressed his hands together to drive home his point, “to natural silk.” 

“Even _better_ , it’s stronger than steel.” Stephen laughed, his anger bordering on the verge of mania. He transformed his damaged hands by straightening his index finger back into a point, gesturing straight at Peter. “You’re telling me a _kid_ came up with this all on his own?”

“He did,” Scott asserted forcefully, standing from his seat, “And you are well aware this is the first roundtable I have attended with this group. I didn't receive _any_ information from Tony about this. What you are accusing is impossible.”

Bruce reached out, stilling Scott and encouraging him to sit back down. “I know this seems like we’ve been cutting you out, Stephen, but I was going to bring this up to you at our meeting today. I just wish the cat hadn’t gotten out of the bag prematurely.” He glanced sideways at Peter.

Bruce continued, “Whatever agreement you had with Tony did not apply to Scott and I.”

“Bullshit!” Stephen spat.

“No,” Bruce continued, shaking his head. “You have no right to bring us into this. Whatever has been developed by Peter is his own intellectual property regardless of similarities it may have to yours.”

“I find it hard to believe,” Stephen continued angrily, voice lowering, “That an undergraduate could develop a synthetic protein better than mine, having absolutely no guidance from my prototype.”

“Well, he did,” Bruce replied, eyebrow raised matter-of-factly.

“Whether you believe him or not, Stephen,” a deep voice said behind Dr. Strange, “think about what you are doing. We are working toward this goal for the advancement of humankind.”

A dark muscular man, seated next to an equally muscular man with blonde shoulder-length hair, was speaking to the irate professor.

“You can speak with Tony later about how he violated your rights by outsourcing. This matter is of no consequence to us now. Please, let us return to talking about the issue at hand. Time is of the essence.”

Stephen looked like he was about to explode. “Is this how all of you are going to handle this?” Looking around wildly. “Fine! Fine.”

Stephen spun on his heel and left. Stunned silence filled the room. 

Eventually, Tony cleared his throat. “This meeting will need to reconvene at a later time— Bruce, I’ll count on you to handle the logistics.”

Tony took a few steps forward to gather his black cube and then disappeared through the door. As if by magic, the lights in the room were once again illuminated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter finally start making conversation!

It was five hours after Dr. Strange’s public altercation with Stark. 

Peter was a bundle of nerves as he sat waiting for the arrival of several important scientists in a private dining room with Bruce and Quill. The room they were seated in was high-class, and despite adding a navy blazer to his red-and-blue plaid button-up, Peter still felt horrifically under-dressed. Ivory candles illuminated the center of the long table set for ten in stark contrast with the midnight black tablecloth. The place settings were artfully arranged with not one— not two— but _three_ forks, and wine-colored napkins were folded in the likeness of a bird atop square plates. The velvet-patterned wallpaper was interspersed with edison bulb sconces, creating a style suited to expensive tastes patronized frequently by California's elite.

Natasha was the first to enter the private dining room. Her eyebrow arched elegantly upon seeing Peter, but her face returned to a neutral expression as she moved to find her seat. She was followed by Clint, Scott, and a man that Peter recognized from the roundtable earlier.

The long-haired blonde was wearing an expensive navy suit that glittered when he moved. Rather than following the other three, he walked around the table to Peter and offered his hand. 

“Hello, Peter,” the man said, “My name is Thor. I'm here as a representative of Asgard. Our country has a strong interest in the success of this endeavor.” 

“H-hi,” Peter replied, shaking Thor’s hand and hoping his palms weren’t too clammy. 

Suddenly realizing the room was nearly two-thirds full, and events of the day weighing heavily on his mind, Peter blurted, “I- I just really want to say that I'm so, so sorry. I really had no idea that so much was going on in relation to my research. I feel responsible for ruining the whole roundtable.”

Peter could feel his ears burning, but was quickly mollified by Clint, “Don't worry. Tony doesn't know how to play nice with other people. Sometimes it comes back to bite him in the ass.”

“Couldn't have said it better myself, Clint,” Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes and taking a seat.

Thor sat to the right of Peter, “It is only due to overly large egos that we accomplished nothing today.”

"I don't know," Scott murmured, "the laser show was pretty rad."

Bruce sighed, leaning back with his arms crossed, “It will be a miracle if we can patch this up. I could honestly kill Tony.”

“Did someone say my name?” said Tony, sweeping dramatically through the privacy curtain in the entryway. The curtain fell back on the Lieutenant Colonel who was only a step behind him, who scowled angrily and swatted the fabric from his face.

“Welcome to your dinner party, Tony,” Bruce replied dryly, two seats to the left from Peter. 

“I always throw the best gatherings,” Tony smiled. 

Tony had changed from the clothes he wore at the roundtable earlier that day. Almost as if he had known exactly what the private dining room looked like, and perhaps he did, Tony dressed to match it. He was wearing a jet black suit with a crisp white shirt. A silk tie and pocket square the color of merlot peeked from their hiding places behind black fabric. Tony gracefully took a seat directly across Peter. 

“You will all be happy to hear that Strange has forgiven me,” Tony said, head cocked with a smile as he assessed all those in attendance. 

“So we should expect him to attend?” Natasha asked, gesturing to the last empty seat.

Tony’s face turned into a slight pout as he replied, “Mmm… no. He will not be coming.”

“I’m really in disbelief he changed his mind,” Clint said.

“Pepper is taking care of it,” Tony replied, gesturing in a shooing motion with his hand. 

Tony added, “The lawyers at Stark Industries have confirmed our deal was water-tight. Nevertheless, I’ve agreed to fund Stephen’s research indefinitely and will also be compensating him for emotional distress as a result of his misinterpretation of our contract.”

Next to Tony, Rhodey rolled his eyes. 

“So shall we order?” Tony went on. 

A young waitress was filling everyone’s glass with ice water and met the eyes of a second waiter who entered the room. The server went straight to Tony and remembered every vintage of wine the billionaire listed, also noting each small plate Tony deemed the attendants worthy of with absolutely no consultation.

Although the rest of the party seemed used to this behavior, Peter glanced sideways to meet Quill’s eyes, who pulled a face as if to say, _I don’t know, man_ , without saying as much. 

“So...” Scott said, a beat after the waiter had left the room, “if it’s okay that I jump right in… can you clarify what T’Challa was referring to about flexibility being an issue?”

“Right,” Tony replied, looking across the table to reply to Scott. “Well in short, the space station is too large to launch.”

“Even in pieces?” Quill interjected. Unlike Peter, he had not felt the one iota of obligation to change his attire for the evening’s meeting. His cool confidence was the stuff Peter aspired to.

“Even in pieces,” Tony replied, eyebrows raised as if he just realized that Bruce’s students were sitting at the table right in front of him.

“If the lift and drag of your launch objects are balanced well enough you should have no issue achieving thrust stability, regardless of size,” Quill retorted.

“I’m sorry— who are you?” Tony asked.

“Peter Quill,” he replied, standing and leaning over the table to shake Tony’s hand. Tony seemed surprised at Quill’s boldness, but reciprocated all the same.

“My PhD student in the aerospace department,” Bruce supplied.

“The one researching spacecraft re-entry design,” Tony said, brain quickly catching up. His lips twitched like he was thinking of a smile. 

Quill sighed as he smiled tightly, unable to pretend he wasn’t irritated from being initially invisible to Tony.

Tapping his lip, Tony continued, “Well, I’ll give you the long answer. There are difficulties in achieving symmetrical, aerodynamic launch pieces that can be assembled in space to create a station at the magnitude we have planned.”

The servers were back with bottles of wine, busying themselves to fill everyone’s glass with a red vintage. Peter wouldn’t know, but he guessed it was expensive.

“The torque required to limit displacement will reach levels that have jeopardized the integrity of the shell on each launch model iteration,” Tony added.

“I see,” Quill replied.

“The issue isn’t so much liftoff, because we’ve solved that part,” Tony said. “What we’re left with now is a new problem of maintaining the small parts while we get each big part—each segment—into space.”

“And this is why you need Peter,” Quill said, flatly.

“The flexibility of his synthetic is the perfect material to withstand launch,” Bruce replied.

“Did you know about this before you took him into our lab?” Quill asked Bruce, an edge to his tone.

“No,” Bruce replied to Quill, “I didn’t.” 

Turning to Tony, Bruce added, “But it makes sense now, why you were working with Strange on this material. Why you would risk a contract to outsource the work to a larger team in Wakanda.”

“Well, at least someone understands,” Tony smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “This project meant a lot to my father. I want to see it through to the end.”

“It means quite a bit to more than just you or your father,” Thor replied deeply.

“We wouldn’t all be here if it didn’t,” Natasha added.

“Yes, well,” Tony said, suddenly seeming uninterested in talking as he took a long sip of wine.

Peter cleared his throat before he spoke up for the first time, “You— you need a synthetic spider silk to… to work like glue inside the space station so it doesn’t get ripped apart while you’re launching it into space? Did— did I get that right?” He glanced between Bruce and Tony.

“That about sums it up,” Tony replied, a hint of a smile pulling on the edges of his lips.

“Well… I— I’d love to help,” Peter replied.

“That was easy,” Tony murmured, although he clearly meant for his words to be heard by everyone. 

Tony’s smile dazzled Peter with its force.

“We’ll work out the details together,” Bruce made sure to say.

“Is it true your formula yields a protein with greater tensile strength than steel?” Tony asked Peter, ignoring Bruce. He rested his chin on his fist.

“Y-yeah,” Peter replied.

Quill made sure to interject, “Peter has worked very hard on it.”

“And Peter will be credited accordingly,” Tony replied, not taking his eyes off the young man.

Peter was fighting a blush by then, but Tony broke his gaze to pop a crudité in his mouth. 

“Please, eat,” he encouraged the table. 

Clint and Thor were already way ahead of him, having filled their small plates with tiny appetizers. Some were unrecognizable to Peter, so he tried to stick to things he knew. Like cheeses. And tiny toasts. Definitely not the bright red substance diced into miniature cubes— was that _raw meat_?

“I may have a… disagreeable reputation,” Tony said, possibly addressing Peter although Peter couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just talking to himself. “What with being a reformed weapons manufacturer and difficult collaborator—”

“Understatement of the century,” Rhodey chided, seemingly unafraid of eating something Peter was pretty sure was caviar.

“I may even go so far as to forget your deadly allergies—” Tony seemed to realize he was blathering, “but I always respect genius. And what you have made is nothing short of genius.”

Okay, Tony was definitely talking to Peter now. Peter’s face turned red.

“We’ll make sure your work is funded, credited, and published,” Tony added.

“I think I can handle the publishing part on my own, I _am_ Peter’s advisor—” Bruce started.

Tony waved his hands to dismiss Bruce, already moving on to the next conversation, “Scott! How’s your daughter?”

* * *

By the end of the dinner, Peter was stuffed. So was Quill, who said while rubbing his belly with a satisfied grin on his face, “I love conferences.” 

“I feel you there,” Clint replied to Quill, who also looked sleepy at the end of the table.

The nine people in the party had been lavished with a nine-course meal. After the small plates were served, the servers brought cold soup, then hot soup, miniscule fingerling potatoes dressed in a spicy chutney, then a single scallop covered in squid ink. They were brought pulpo, not pretending to be anything else — the curved tentacle was plated with suckers arranged face up. It was the only dish Peter declined to eat. Tony’s eyes caught his as the plate was whisked away, but he turned back to conversation with Thor smoothly as if nothing had happened.

New drinks were supplied with every change of course. By the seventh, Peter was certainly more than tipsy, and started leaving behind most of the glass in an effort to maintain professionalism among the older scientists. He devoured his favorite plate with gusto — steak with broccolini — and happily tucked into a tiny circle of cheesecake and a small spoonful of gelato before his last and final indulgence, an espresso.

After the evening had wound down, Tony checked his watch. “I have time for one last cocktail, Bruce, if you’d like to join Rhodey and I,” he said.

“I need to get these two back to the hotel,” Bruce replied, head cocking toward Peter and Quill.

“I can drive, Bruce,” Quill encouraged. “You should stay with Tony.”

“No, no,” Bruce shook his head, “the car is in my name, I’ll drive us all back.”

“Suit yourself,” Tony replied, turning back to Rhodey.

The occupants had all filtered their way out of the room, and Peter caught up to Bruce to ask before they made it through the restaurant doors, “Did, uh, did you see the check for dinner?” he tried to ask casually.

“Don’t worry, Tony is covering it,” Bruce replied smoothly.

“Okay,” Peter sighed in relief. He knew Bruce had his back while they were traveling, but that experience was so over-the-top Peter was worried for a second that he may be expected to budget for it by compensating with next month’s groceries.

As they walked through the doors, Peter patted his back pockets out of habit to make sure he had his wallet and phone. Freezing, he realized that his phone was missing and cursed when he remembered setting it on the table.

“I’ll be right back!” Peter called, turning back to the private dining room.

Peter made quick steps of the journey to the room, and didn’t even think to pause before he pushed through the curtain. He caught the tail end of Rhodey speaking as he emerged into the private space.

“— public altercation was worse than fights with your ex, Justin—”

Rhodey quickly stopped speaking once he realized Peter was in the room. Freezing, Peter realized he had interrupted a private conversation and mentally kicked himself for getting wrapped up in even more information he probably wasn’t supposed to know. _Idiot_ , he chided himself.

“I— I—,” Peter stammered, Tony’s head swiveling to see him in the doorway after Rhodey stopped speaking, “I f-forgot my, uh— my phone.”

Ducking his head as his face reddened, Peter quickly stepped around the table and plucked it from where it was resting by his wine glass.

“S-sorry,” Peter stammered again, stopping as if to apologize further, but realized he couldn’t stand to stay any longer and rushed back out of the dining room.

Outside of the restaurant, Peter let out a long breath to calm himself and faked a smile as he ran to the car where Quill and Bruce were waiting.

* * *

The next day, Peter was busy fixing himself a cup of coffee during an afternoon break in the conference common area. He had watched dozens of presentations in the morning, and after a large lunch with Quill, Peter was feeling sleepy. He’d need a little extra boost to make it through the rest of the day. 

Walking slowly away from the station, Peter started to blow on the surface of his coffee to get it to a drinkable temperature. The one drawback to drinking coffee black — it was always too hot. 

“Do you always blow your joe?” A voice asked from the corner of his vision.

Flabbergasted, Peter let out too much air at once as he realized the voice came from Tony Stark. Peter spilled coffee all over his hand and he watched in horror as it projected at least three feet across the faux marble floor.

“I’d apologize, but that was just too easy,” Tony said, continuing to approach with a grin on his face. He was wearing a scarlet blazer today paired with dark jeans. 

Peter groaned. “Oh— damn, Mr. Stark, I— I should get some napkins,” he stammered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony chided, grabbing Peter’s elbow gently to guide him toward the outside world. “Walk with me.”

“Mr.— Mr. Stark— if— if this is about— I mean, I— I know I shouldn’t have— I didn’t—” Peter stammered, walking side-by-side with Tony through the conference building doors.

“Goodness, I’m not upset,” Tony interjected. “Don’t have a heart attack.”

“I only—” 

“Only what?”

“I’m sorry for overhearing,” Peter said.

The pair stopped to stand by a wooden bench beneath a blue jacaranda. The tree was covered in pale indigo flowers, so thick that it provided shade to both Tony and Peter from the heat of the afternoon sun.

“I don’t accept your apology,” Tony replied, releasing Peter’s arm to put both of his hands in his pockets. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh,” Peter replied, unsure of what was even happening.

“I wanted to pick your brain a little bit, but I don’t like being interrupted, so I’d rather just talk out here,” Tony replied.

Peter nodded emphatically and squeaked as he said, “R-right, right, yeah.”

“Where did you get the idea for your synthesis?” Tony asked, seeming genuinely curious. He took a seat on the bench, one leg bent so he could perch at an angle toward Peter.

“I, um,” Peter followed suit and sat on the other end of the bench. “Well, a field trip,” he said.

Tony watched him expectantly, so Peter continued, “I went with my class during sophomore year of high school. We— we saw some neat spiders in a lab, and it inspired me to start thinking about how useful their webs could be if they were replicated.”

“Where did you go to high school?” Tony asked.

“New York,” Peter replied. This question was much easier. “I’m from Queens.”

“Queens,” Tony replied, pensive. “The Stark Tower is in New York, have you seen it?”

“Only from a distance, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied. “And it was still under construction when I moved to Ithaca.”

“Call me Tony,” Tony corrected Peter. “Cornell, right?”

“Yeah. And I’m at MIT now. Uh... obviously,” Peter finished lamely, ears turning slightly red. Of course Tony knew he was at MIT. Bruce was one of the foremost scientists at MIT, and he and Tony were friends, for crying out loud. They had just talked about this _yesterday_.

Tony smiled, “You should visit sometime.”

“Stark Tower?” Peter squeaked.

“Of course,” Tony replied.

“Well, I— I— it would have to be between semesters,” Peter replied, thinking primarily of his responsibilities as a teaching assistant. But aware that one of the hottest men walking on Earth had just invited him to his private research lab, Peter quickly added, “But I’d love to. That would be amazing. I would definitely love to come visit.” 

Tony smiled again, and this time it reached the wrinkles of his eyes. “Can you tell me a little more about your protein synthesis?” Tony asked gently.

“Well, I don’t know how much, uh—,” Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. He only had a few minutes left, “I don’t have much time until Quill’s seminar starts.”

“What’s his seminar on?” Tony asked.

“Social media and science communication to the public,” Peter replied.

“I’ll join you,” Tony replied.

“W— what?” Peter stammered.

Tony rolled his eyes and stood, acting hurt, “Oh, come on— I _tweet_.”

“Tweet,” Peter echoed. He stared at Tony blankly.

“Earth to Peter,” Tony said, waiting patiently while Peter stared.

“Yes,” Peter answered, standing quickly. He realized he hadn’t had a single sip of coffee, but Peter had never felt more awake in his life.

“Walk and talk,” Tony prompted.

“O— okay,” Peter replied. “Well, okay, the synthesis starts with surprisingly basic reagents—” 

It took very little prompting for Peter to talk about his work, and he explained almost all of the development process to Tony as they journeyed to Quill’s presentation room. Tony nodded thoughtfully as Peter gestured, and he asked questions where appropriate. He wasn’t a biochemical engineer per se, but certainly grasped the most basic reactions Peter described.

The pair arrived at the seminar room on time, and Peter made sure to get a seat near the front so Quill could see him. Tony sat in the chair right next to Peter.

Peter’s body felt much warmer than usual during the entire seminar, but he figured it was just because of poor air circulation in the building. Tony was attentive during the full hour Quill spoke, hardly moving, although Peter wished he would. Peter was much more distracted than usual during Quill’s talks. Quill was an excellent speaker, after all, and usually captivated an audience with little effort. However, Peter’s brain was short-circuiting as he tried not to think too much about how close their knees were to each other and that if Tony just moved his leg a few inches—

Peter was taken out of his reverie at the sound of applause. He quickly clapped to add his ovation to the mix, but he only had eyes for Tony as he stood from his seat and waved a terse farewell to Peter as he walked down the aisle of chairs toward the seminar doors.

Trying not to be disappointed, Peter turned back to Quill. He waved as Quill smiled at him, then became lost in thought once more as Quill started taking questions.

“Great job today,” Peter told Quill as they met up after the final afternoon session. 

“Thanks, Pete,” Quill replied, clapping him on his shoulder. “Are you ready for your talk tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” Peter replied, side of his mouth turning down. 

“I’d offer to be your practice audience tonight, but I really want to see Shuri’s poster. She’s in the eight o’clock session, so after dinner with Bruce I’ll be coming back here.”

“Oh,” Peter replied, “that’s okay. Tell Shuri I’m sorry I can’t make it.”

“Will do,” Quill replied. “We’ll swing by the poster room with her another time and have her talk it over to you.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter said.

“So what’s up with you and Tony?” Quill asked, “I wasn’t expecting to see you with him.”

“Oh, he wanted to talk to me about the silk,” Peter replied.

“Mm,” Quill replied, smirking like he knew more than Peter did.

“What?”

“He was sitting awfully close during that seminar,” Quill goaded.

“I— Quill! No,” Peter replied.

“It’s okay, man,” Quill said, starting to laugh. “Run with it.”

“It’s not like that,” Peter frowned. Although he desperately wanted it to be _like that_. 

“You’re a good looking guy, Peter,” Quill said, seriously. “If it _is_ going to be like that, you definitely deserve it.”

Realizing Bruce was pulling up with the car, Quill stepped away, and added with a wink, “Plus, I’ve talked to Ned. I know what’s up.”

Face full-on burning, definitely on fire, and maybe reaching the critical point of even melting off—Peter walked robotically to the car and got in.

* * *

The next day, Peter twisted nervously in his seat while the girl presenting before him was wrapping up her acknowledgements slide. Quill, seated next to him, leaned over to whisper, “You’re going to do great.”

“Thanks,” Peter whispered back tightly. He hadn’t slept well the night before. Peter practiced several times in an empty room until he was worried he might lose his voice, then went to bed feeling no less nervous after all of the run-throughs.

Peter stood as he was introduced by the room’s moderator, smoothing down his silver-patterned tie. He had dressed in all black, from dress shirt to pants and shoes. Sometimes simple was best, he thought.

Walking to the front of the room, he took the clicker from the moderator’s outstretched hand and smiled nervously to his audience. The small room was still settling down as some attendees filtered out to see another talk in a different room and others filtered in to see Peter.

“H-hello, my name is Peter Parker,” he began. “I’m a Master’s student at MIT and will be talking to you today about my new synthetic synthesis of a spider silk alternative.”

Glancing at the audience, Peter could see Shuri smiling reassuringly. Natasha and Clint were in the back row.

“Spider silk is one of the strongest and most adaptive materials on Earth,” Peter continued, gaining momentum. “It has a stronger tensile strength by weight than high-grade stainless steel, although it’s not quite as strong as carbon steel, which falls into the newer AHSS grades.”

“However, tensile strength can be measured multiple ways. For example, all materials have a balance between yield strength, ultimate strength, and density. Yield strength is defined as the amount of stress that can be put on a material before it is permanently deformed, whereas ultimate strength is the amount of stress that can be applied by stretching or pulling before a material breaks.” 

“Many of the highest tensile strengths on the market have low breaking points. For example, tungsten is the strongest existing metal but readily shatters on impact. On the other end of the spectrum, kevlar has the highest man-made yield strength, 3.6 gigapascals, which is triple that of natural spider silk.”

“And yet natural spider silk is still a tougher material than kevlar. Why? It can withstand a larger proportion of strain than kevlar. Spider silk is more extensible, or able to stretch without breaking, which is why it’s considered so unique.”

“Spider silk is made up of proteins,” Peter clicked to a slide showing a looped gif of a spider building a web. “And what I set out to do was to try to replicate the synthesis of spider silk in the lab.”

Peter’s body beamed with energy as he gained traction in his presentation. Quill could see Peter’s excitement pouring out of him as he explained the work he had been doing for the past four years. He slowly paced as he spoke, capturing the audience’s attention while pointing to the animations of 3D protein structure models and lines illustrating the tensile strength to strain ratio of his final product.

“The complete protein I created has a higher tensile strength than the natural alternative. We measured it to average 1.9 gigapascals,” Peter traced the line on a graph with the laser pointer. “Even better, it has a greater extensibility as well, making this product tougher than natural spider silk.”

“The applications of this material are limitless. Because it’s a protein, it’s eco-friendly and doesn’t produce harmful by-products. It’s basically even edible. With its relatively low cost overhead and accessibility of reagents, I believe this assay can one day change the world,” Peter concluded.

Clicking his remote one more time, the slideshow transitioned to a picture of Peter in full lab attire— white coat, nitrile gloves, goggles, and all. In the photo, he was beaming. 

“Questions?” Peter asked. His real-life face faded from the same beaming smile to a smaller, more nervous grin.

The room broke out in applause. As Peter finally paused to take a breath and look more closely around the room, he saw Bruce smiling proudly in the middle row, grinning ear-to-ear. Scott Lang was in the front, also grinning and clapping wholeheartedly. 

Peter’s eyes wandered to the back corner of the room. Multiple people were standing, since the seats had filled up, and Peter’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Tony Stark tucked in a corner. Tony’s head tilted in acknowledgement of Peter’s gaze, a small smile playing on his lips as his hands fell together in a tilted clap. 

* * *

Later that evening, Quill was the one to suggest taking Peter out for celebratory drinks. Bruce praised Peter after his talk and Scott gave him a hug in the hallway, but Tony had vanished as soon as the next presenter had taken the wheel during the session. Regardless, Peter felt like he was walking on cloud nine with relief after the imminent stress of public speaking was lifted from his shoulders. 

“Where to?” Bruce asked Peter.

“Oh—for drinks?” Peter asked, milling with Quill outside the conference venue as the sun sank lower in the sky. It would set in the next half hour, and Peter suddenly realized he was starving.

“Can we do Mexican?” Peter suggested.

“I like the way you think,” Quill said with a wink. “All aboard for margaritas! Bruce, what do you say we invite a few other people? Make it a proper party?”

“Quill…” Bruce groaned, but both students could tell it was not going to be a hard fight to win.

“C’mon Bruce, you know it wouldn’t be half bad asking Natasha to tag along,” Quill pressed.

“Pleeeeaase?” Peter threw in for good measure.

“Fine,” Bruce acquiesced, raising his voice slightly as he continued in order to be heard over Quill and Peter’s excitement. “But only because both of you are done presenting this week,” he made clear.

“Text the whole group!” Quill encouraged, already walking down the block toward the nearest Mexican place. 

“I’ll catch up,” Bruce replied, standing still while tapping at his phone with a pointer finger.

“Hell yes,” Quill said, walking with his arm slung over Peter’s shoulders.

“Did my talk really go that well?” Peter asked Quill as they traversed the sidewalk.

“It was fantastic,” Quill affirmed, “Your best version yet.”

“Awesome,” Peter replied. “Did you see that Tony was there?”

“Oh yeah?” Quill said absentmindedly, checking the road and waiting for the next coming cars to pass.

“Yeah, he was in the back,” Peter said.

“I’m sure that was nice to see,” Quill replied, glancing back to Peter. “The more mentors to have your back, the better.”

The road was finally clear, so Quill stepped off the curb and walked at a slight diagonal toward the cantina on the other side of the road. Peter jogged to catch up.

“I mean, is it so bad that I was happy he was there?” Peter asked.

“No,” Quill laughed, “Look dude, I already told you. Whatever your relationship with Stark turns into, I’m happy for it. Just let me know if he ever hurts your feelings and I’ll come beat him up.”

This time it was Peter’s turn to laugh. He loosened his tie as they stepped through the doors to the restaurant. The smell of delicious food wafted through the air to both of their noses.

“First thing first, we’re getting shots,” Quill informed Peter, making a beeline to the bar with Peter in tow.

“My treat,” Quill said, gesturing to the bartender. “Two shots of tequila and two house margaritas, please.” 

The bartender nodded and stepped away to make the drinks. “Quill,” Peter said, “Thank you for being a friend.”

“You got it, babe,” Quill joked, shooting Peter a wink and a grin.

Their shots arrived in no time, and they did the full routine — salt, shot, lime. 

“Oof,” Peter grimaced.

“Oh, that wasn’t so bad,” Quill chuckled. By the time they were finished taking shots, their margaritas appeared, and Quill went back to the hostess to reserve a large table. “Sure, pushing them together is fine,” he confirmed with the waitstaff.

Peter and Quill took their seats at one end of a long table. As soon as the baskets of tortilla chips were placed, Peter started crushing them. He was a lightweight on a good day, but adding an empty stomach to the mix probably wasn’t the best idea.

A few minutes later, Quill waved to Bruce and Natasha that had just come in through the doors. They brought behind them a gaggle of scientists who were hastily taking off their conference name tags now that they were back in public. 

Distracted by everyone coming in, Peter was surprised when someone out of sight pulled a chair out from the table and took a seat to his right. Peter turned in confusion, “Uhhh— oh. _Oh._ Hi! Hi, Tony.”

“What’s up, Petey?” Tony replied with a wink. He was holding a strawberry margarita. Did he come in before Peter and Quill had started keeping an eye on the door? 

“Stark,” Quill nodded.

“Good job on your talk,” Tony praised Peter.

“T-thank you,” Peter replied, ever humble, “I’m shocked it went so well.”

The rest of the party finally reached the three and started taking their seats. Bruce sat across from Peter, next to Tony who was at the head of the table. Shuri squeezed in on the other side of Quill. Clint, Thor, T’Challa and Scott were on the other end laughing about something heartily.

“Way to go, Peter,” Shuri called, leaning in front of Quill to talk to Peter.

“Thank you! I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it to your poster presentation,” Peter replied. “Quill told me you did a great job, though.”

“I don’t think she could have done any better,” Natasha said from her place next to Bruce. 

“So have you two eaten all the chips or are there some left for the rest of us?” Bruce chided, eyebrow cocked at the basket that was already bare save for a few broken pieces that were no good for salsa purposes.

“Sorry,” Quill and Peter said simultaneously, giving each other a glance and a laugh. Peter was starting to feel warm from the tequila. The warm atmosphere and vivid colors in the restaurant matched his mood perfectly, and Peter felt calm as Spanish music filtered through their conversations.

The waitress arrived with water for the table and took drink orders. “Can we please have some more chips? — and let’s do guacamole, too,” Tony added.

“Mmmm. Guacamole. Good call,” Peter said.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Tony replied, smiling.

Peter looked away, tapping his fingers on the stem of his margarita glass before his face went red. Quill, oblivious to Peter’s feelings — or maybe not — replied, “Oh yeah? What kind of good things?”

“Guacamole,” Bruce replied in the same tone as one would say _duh_ , assuming Quill just hadn’t been listening.

“Exactly,” Tony confirmed with a suddenly straight face.

Natasha glanced between Quill and Tony a few times before deciding to turn to her other side and start a conversation with Scott.

“So what projects have you been up to, lately?” Bruce asked Tony.

“Oh, you know,” Tony replied with a shrug, “Thrusters for individual flight, a few things with lasers, tuning up JARVIS, the usual.”

“What’s JARVIS?” Peter asked.

“My personal AI. He runs my house,” Tony replied. 

“You have an entire artificial intelligence running your home!?” Peter replied, face expressing his shock.

“It’s not revolutionary,” Tony replied, leaning back so the waitress could set a large bowl of guacamole on the table in front of them.

“Well,” Tony’s eyebrows knitted together as he thought, “Actually, it is revolutionary, but that’s not really the point.”

Swiveling, Tony asked Bruce, “What about you?”

“Just a few small projects that I can fit between teaching classes,” Bruce replied. “My most recent work is with nanomeds, but it’s still in the early stages.”

“Fascinating,” Tony replied, wheedling a few more answers out of Bruce while the waitress took the companions’ dinner orders.

“I’ll have fish tacos,” Peter requested.

Realizing the waitress had reached him, Tony sat back while handing the menu back to her, “Enchiladas verdes, please.”

“So. Peter,” Tony said once the waitress had left. “How difficult do you think it would be to ramp up production of your synthetic silk on a large scale?” 

Peter took a deep breath. “I haven’t really thought about that too much,” he admitted.

“You haven’t even considered patenting it?” Tony asked.

“No, should I?” he asked, glancing between Tony and Bruce.

“If it’s going to be used in the space station, absolutely,” Bruce confirmed.

“Probably in your best interest,” Quill added.

“Oh, okay,” Peter said, feeling a little overwhelmed. Was it the conversation or the alcohol? “I don’t actually know how to do that, though.” 

“We can help,” Bruce assured Peter. “For now, we can assume you’re protected by intellectual property rights through the university. Once you graduate, it’ll be important to file a patent.”

“Have you ever filed a patent before?” Peter asked Bruce.

“Unfortunately, no,” Bruce replied.

“I have,” said Tony.

“Great,” Bruce replied, “I’ll let you help him with that, then. We can pull Scott in when the time is right as a co-author.”

“Sounds perfect,” Tony smiled.

Their food arrived. Peter’s appetite had not abated despite his egregious consumption of chips, so after sprinkling a little hot sauce on his tacos, he grabbed one and took a big bite. Unable to resist, Tony timed his comment perfectly.

“Is this your first time eating fish tacos?” Tony asked Peter while his mouth was still full. 

Something about his tone made Peter’s eyes go wide. The combination of an incredulous laugh bubbling in his throat while swallowing didn’t agree with him, so his body revolted in uncontrollable coughing. Quill clapped him on the back hard enough to bruise. Eyes watering, Peter got himself together and managed to take a deep breath.

“Yes, actually,” Peter replied smoothly to Tony while making pointed eye contact. Peter took a deep sip of his margarita. Where was this confidence coming from?

A sly smirk spread across Tony’s face.

“What do you think?” Bruce asked, oblivious to the subtext at the table, “Worth coming to San Diego for?”

“Without a doubt,” Peter replied, a bright smile radiating from his lips. His eyes never left Tony’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For y’all real nerds, I want to make clear that I do pretend some materials (i.e. products created by real manufacturing companies) with the highest recorded tensile strengths don’t exist. If you’re interested, google “S-2” Glass, Vectran, and multiwalled carbon nanotubes.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting warmer... this chapter is a little bit of a tease. Sorry not sorry. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** There's a scene with a minor injury in this chapter that involves, blood, police, and an ambulance.

“Get up,” Quill said, shaking Peter’s torso.

Peter jerked awake and then groaned, a dull headache pounding between his eyes. He was laying on his back, fully clothed, and still on top of the covers. At least he had the drunk sense to kick his shoes off, he thought. Sleepily looking around the room, Peter realized the sun was already up and, in fact, quite bright.

“What time’sit?” Peter mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed again. 

“We already missed this morning’s plenary,” Quill replied. “We need to get going now or else we’ll miss Bruce’s first talk, too.”

“Oh. Shit,” Peter replied, rubbing his eyes but making no move to get off the bed. 

“C’mon, where’s that perky morning person from three days ago?” Quill goaded, distractedly looking for a clean t-shirt in his duffle bag.

“Monday-Peter is gone. He’s been replaced by Hangover-Peter,” he replied. “God, I’m  _ so thirsty _ .” 

“So get  _ up _ ,” Quill insisted, throwing yesterday’s t-shirt at Peter’s face. It didn’t quite hit the mark.

“You’re so mean to me,” Peter complained, finally getting up to stumble to the bathroom for some water. 

While he filled the plastic cup, Peter looked at his face in the mirror. He suddenly started to remember how wild everyone had gotten at the restaurant. As if finally embracing the opportunity for conversation that didn’t involve work, everyone around the table let loose — the relaxed atmosphere was infectious. 

The most vivid memory Peter had was of hammered Scott and Clint. They had played a drinking game with Thor and sorely lost. Thor’s solid, basically-sober body supported them both as they staggered out of the restaurant to hail a cab. At the sight, Tony had laughed hysterically, his handsome face crinkling around his eyes. The grin transformed his face. Peter thought he was stunning.

Coming out of the reverie, Peter took a long swig of water and splashed some on his face for good measure. He sighed.

The pair made quick work of getting ready. In the mood for a more casual day, Peter decided to wear jeans and a polo instead of his usual dress pants and button-up. Quill looked essentially the same as always — boots, jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. They grabbed their room keys and conference IDs and ran out the door.

“You feelin’ green at all?” Quill checked as they walked.

“Just a headache,” Peter replied.

“Good. If you were feeling the least bit nauseous I was going to insist you pound a bloody mary,” Quill said.

“Ugh,” Peter replied, making a fake gagging sound.

They reached the conference center after what seemed like ages. All Peter wanted was to get out of the bright sun and sit in a dark presentation room. “Do you know where we’re going?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, I checked before we left,” Quill replied, taking them around a hall corner. They dodged people milling about as they went along.

“This one,” Quill said. He held the door open for Peter as he stepped inside.

Quill and Peter took their seats just as Bruce was walking to the front of the room. 

* * *

At the end of Bruce’s second presentation, this one scheduled for after lunch, Peter turned to survey the room for Tony. He hadn’t seen the billionaire all day, and tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed.  _ He’s probably just busy, _ Peter thought.  _ You should be happy he even came to see your talk. _

Still, Peter missed the casual conversation they had made the night before. He missed Tony’s warm eyes watching him and the way he smelled like expensive cologne. Peter couldn’t be sure, but he sensed that he was being flirted with, and had felt full to the brim with confidence from Tony’s attention. His confidence deflated as the hours went by.

That evening, Peter finally cashed his rain check to informally catch up on Shuri’s poster. She happily explained her figures to Peter, who nodded along and came up with a few thoughtful questions to ask at the end. 

“You seem blue,” Shuri commented as she took the push pins out of the corners of her poster. She carefully began to roll it once it was detached from the divider.

“I —” Peter sighed, “I guess I’ve just been thinking about how tomorrow is the last day of the conference.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “After everything magical that’s happened here, once I’m back in Massachusetts... life will just go back to normal.”

“Do you really think so, Peter?” Shuri asked. She had finished rolling the poster and slid it into her travel tube.

“Well, yeah, why wouldn’t it?” Peter replied.

“You’re part of the Avengers Initiative now,” Shuri said. “I don’t think your life will ever be  _ just normal  _ ever again.”

“The… Avengers Initiative?” Peter asked.

“Everyone you saw at the roundtable on Monday is a part of it. We are a team, working together to launch the new international space station.” Shuri replied. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize there was a name— I— how many people are on this team?” Peter asked.

Shuri slung the strap of her carry tube over her shoulder. “Not many. You can consider yourself quite special,” she said with a smile. “You certainly haven’t met all of them yet. Thor is usually accompanied by his kinsmen, but his friends Brunnhilde and Heimdall have been upset with Tony about his breach of contract with Strange since the roundtable.” She shrugged.

“Are Wakanda and Asgard the only other countries helping the United States with the launch?” Peter asked, following Shuri outside. The warm night air was pleasant on Peter’s bare arms— he would certainly miss the San Diego climate.

“As far as I am aware,” Shuri nodded. “I sometimes like to think we are more progressive than other countries in the world, but in reality, we are probably just in a better financial position to assist,” she said.

Peter nodded, recognizing the long day was coming to an and. “Are you going to catch a ride back to your hotel, or walk?” Peter asked.

“I’ve already called an Uber,” Shuri replied. “Actually, I think that’s my car right over there. I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter,” Shuri said, embracing Peter in a hug.

Peter hugged her back. He waved at the car as it drove away.

Working his cell phone out of his pocket, Peter texted Quill while still standing on the sidewalk.

_ Are you back at the hotel?  _

Peter absentmindedly opened his e-mail and checked a few university announcements that had been sent that day. He was halfway through browsing the summer course teaching assignments that had been distributed to the MIT TAs in his department when a message popped up at the top of his screen.  _ Yup. _

_ Walking back now, _ Peter sent. 

Peter put his phone back in his pocket and started the route he’d memorized by now. He passed the Mexican restaurant they had been to the night before and was tempted to get another shot of tequila before reaching the hotel, but decided against it, shaking his head to himself. 

Peter’s phone vibrated again.  _ Get beer,  _ it said.

Peter rolled his eyes and sent a message back.  _ Are we out? _

Buzz.  _ You opened the last one when we got back last night _

Buzz.  _ It’s still on your nightstand. Warm and skunky _

Peter pulled a grimace and checked his wallet as he walked. He had enough cash to make a quick stop, and owed Quill for the last beer run anyway.

_ Special delivery coming your way, dear _ , he texted Quill.

Quill replied with the heart-eyed emoji.

Peter was nearing the gas station across the street from their hotel. As he approached the door, he noticed yelling coming from inside. He could see through the glass walls that a man was gesticulating angrily at the attendant behind the counter, who stood stone-faced and unflinching with a phone to his ear. The man turned as Peter hesitated, hand on the door handle. But as Peter stood thinking, the man sprinted for the exit. Peter tried to step back in time, but the figure swung the door open wide and fast and the unforgiving metal hit Peter square in the face. 

Staggering backward and holding his nose, he cursed.  _ Jesus fuck _ that hurt. Peter sank to his knees and waited for his brain to start doing literally anything except sending pain signals from the bridge of his nose.

“Sir? Sir?” Peter looked up. The gas station attendant was a dark silhouette against the bright artificial lights surrounding the station. “Are you okay?”

“I— I—” Peter stammered.

“Stay there, I’ll get you some ice.” 

Peter closed his eyes and moved from kneeling on the asphalt to sitting cross-legged. He kept one hand gingerly pressed to his face while he pulled the other away to wipe it across his lips, realizing he was tasting blood.

“Oh, god,” Peter murmured when he saw his fingertips were covered in red. Just his luck.

The cashier returned with a wad of brown paper towels surrounding a big chunk of ice. He handed Peter a second stack so he could start wiping the blood off of his face.

“Tilt your head back,” the station attendant instructed.

Peter did as he was told and pinched the bridge of his nose firmly to stem the flow. His polo would be ruined by the time he got back to the hotel.

“The police are already on their way,” the attendant said.

“What even happened?” Peter asked, confused, breathing through his mouth and starting to get angry while his face still throbbed. 

“That punk was stealing, and I called him out on it. He wasn’t very happy about it.”

“Christ,” Peter cursed.

Flashing red and blue lights signaled the approach of a cop car. Gravel crunched behind Peter as the car parked, and the attendant straightened up when the driver’s side door opened. Peter scooched back a little and turned to see the officer. 

“Did you make the 911 call?” the cop asked the station attendant, closing the door behind him.

“Yes, but the thief ran away. He hit this guy in the face and went that way,” the man said, pointing down the road.

Taking one look at the blood falling down Peter’s face, the officer nodded and sighed, “We’ll get you paramedics.” He turned his head to speak to dispatch through the radio on his shoulder.

Peter was fairly sure the blood was slowing but was afraid to stop pinching his nose in case he was wrong. He had already gone through two sets of paper towels that had been soaked through with blood.

“What’s your name and date of birth, kid?” the officer asked Peter.

“Peter Parker,” he responded, “And my birthday is uhh… August 27, 1993.”

The officer turned to speak on his radio again.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” the cop said, “I’ll hold off on giving you any medical attention since they’re so close.” Turning to the station attendant, the cop said, “For now, why don’t you come inside with me. I need a description. Even better—you have CCTV?”

The officer and attendant walked into the building. Peter sighed, starting to feel extremely uncomfortable on the pavement. He was also beginning to get a terrible headache. Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket, and with a mostly-clean hand texted a quick message to Quill.  _ At the gas station. Held up. Be back soon. Not sure you’re getting beer though. _

As soon as the message was sent, a call started coming through. It wasn’t a number Peter recognized, but thinking it might be Quill through the hotel’s landline he decided to pick up anyway.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Are you okay?” 

The voice coming through the earpiece sounded familiar, but the man wasn’t Quill. 

“Who is this?” Peter asked.

“Tony.”

Peter thought his day was already weird enough, but this… he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. Did he have brain damage?

“Excuse me?” Peter squeaked, phone held back up to his ear.

“Tony Stark. Are you okay? Jesus, I leave you alone for one day—”

“Tony… Stark,” Peter repeated.

“What happened, Peter?” Tony asked.

“I got hit in the face,” Peter replied, still spacing out. “I… uh, how did you get this number?” 

“Are the paramedics there yet? Do you have a concussion?” 

“No, they’re not— I’m okay, look, my nose is just bleeding a lot—”

“So no life-threatening injuries?” Tony pressed, “I’d have driven there by now, but I had to go to a meeting in LA today. You’re okay?”

“Yeah, Tony, I’m good... I think—” Peter saw an ambulance pulling up to the gas station. “I think the paramedics just showed up.”

“Good,” Tony replied. “Call me back once they patch you up.”

“I—”

“Call me.”

“Sure thing, yeah,” Peter said, dazed.

Tony hung up.

The EMTs that hopped out of the ambulance were both no-nonsense women. They tsked as they threw away the used, scratchy brown paper towels and instead used gentler wet wipes to clean the dried blood off Peter’s face. He had a new comfortable perch on the back of the ambulance, where they stuffed cushiony gauze up Peter’s nostrils. They also checked to make sure his eyes dilated correctly, asked him what day of the week it was, checked to see if he’d passed out from being hit, and made him do some reflex tests. 

One of them, a blonde with blue eyes, seemed satisfied as Peter squinted into her tiny flashlight and said, “You may have a mild concussion, but somehow your nose isn’t broken. Do you have someone that can pick you up?”

“Y— yeah, let me just call—” Peter grabbed for his phone again, but stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

“Peter?” 

Bruce did a small wave as he approached the ambulance, introducing himself to the paramedics as he approached. “Hi, I’m Bruce Banner. Peter is my student. I came as soon as I heard.”

“Bruce!” Peter smiled, grateful to see a familiar face.

“Is he okay?” Bruce asked the paramedics. 

They nodded, already packing up their supplies. “He’s okay to go. Do you have a car to take him back to the hotel, or should we give him a lift?”

“I parked our car in the next lot over,” Bruce replied.

“I’m definitely ready to get out of here,” Peter mumbled, getting up from his seat.

Bruce walked with his arm draped over Peter’s shoulders until they reached the white rental SUV. They got in the car. As soon as Peter buckled his seatbelt, he felt as though all of the energy was sucked out of him. He set his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.

“Some week, huh?” Bruce said, pulling out onto the road.

“You’re telling me,” Peter said, “I definitely did not see this coming.”

“You’re probably going to have two black eyes tomorrow,” Bruce said, glancing at Peter as they turned into the hotel parking lot. “What happened, Pete?”

“Got hit in the face with a door. I’m pretty sure it won,” Peter joked. “Some guy running out just went too fast. I didn’t get out of the way. He was stealing, I guess.”

Bruce nodded, parking the car. “I’ll take you up to your room. Quill should already have a bucket of ice ready.”

As Peter unbuckled his seat belt, he realized some puzzle pieces weren’t connecting. “Wait, how did you know I needed help?”

Bruce looked over with a tired expression. The gray in his ruffled curls seemed to reflect his age for once. “Tony,” he said, simply.

After a pause in which Peter felt full of shock and wonder, Bruce added, “Now let’s get you upstairs so you can rest.” 

Bruce delivered Peter to his room, giving a pointed look to Quill as if to say  _ take care of him _ behind Peter’s back.

The door to the room closed gently and Quill flipped the locks.

“Well, shit,” Quill said, sitting heavily on his bed.

“Dude, I know,” Peter groaned.

Suddenly remembering his promise, Peter sighed and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He sat up, and told Quill, “I gotta make a quick call.”

Peter quickly removed his stained shirt and replaced it with an old tee he usually slept in. He put a hoodie on too, seeking extra comfort and safety from the softness. For privacy, Peter stepped out to the balcony before opening his recent calls list. He tapped the latest number. It had already been an hour since Tony called.

It only took one ring before the line picked up. 

“Peter,” Tony said. 

“H—hi, Tony, I— I’m back at the hotel. I’m okay now.”

Tony sighed audibly through the phone, “Great to hear. Did Bruce get you?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied.

“And do you have a concussion?” Tony asked.

“No, well, I— maybe a minor one, but the paramedics don’t think it’s serious. My nose isn’t broken, at least,” Peter said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Jesus, Pete,” Tony said. “Look — don’t go walking around places like that at night. It’s not safe.”

Taken aback, Peter’s mouth fell open, “I just went to a gas station! It wasn’t even 9 o’clock!”

“And yet  _ how _ did you get hit in the face?” Tony asked.

“Someone… someone barged through the door. It was an accident,” Peter replied.

“And did that someone happen to be  _ stealing _ ?” 

“How — Tony — how do you even know all of this?!” Peter whisper-shouted.

There was a beat.

“Peter, you’re part of our team now,” Tony said.

“Ahuh,” Peter replied.

Another beat.

“Your safety is important to me, in addition to every other Avenger.”

“That still doesn’t explain—” Peter started.

“—and as a result,” Tony cut him off, “You are under the protection of JARVIS surveillance.”

Peter digested what Tony was saying.

“So… you… were keeping tabs… on the police scanner?” Peter guessed.

“Among other things,” Tony replied, always aloof.

“Has this kind of thing happened before?” Peter wondered.

“Perhaps,” Tony replied.

“So you’re telling me you’ve called someone — an Avenger — who has never given you their phone number before, immediately after being alerted they were in trouble? You’ve done that for someone else already?” Peter pressed.

“I—” Tony’s voice grew impatient. “Peter.”

“So, no?” Peter smiled.

“Not everyone is quite so gifted at being accident-prone,” Tony deflected. Peter could hear his eyes roll through the phone.

“Well… thank you,” Peter said softly.

Tony was quiet for a moment. “You’re welcome, Peter,” he replied. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Peter’s heart jumped, “Good nigh —” he tried to reply, but the line cut off. Tony had hung up.

Peter breathed a long sigh as he stared out at the still water of the pool. It wiggled occasionally in the breeze, making the lights it reflected jump and bob. He could hardly believe what had transpired. If it took a blow to the schnoz to get Tony Stark to call him on his cell phone, he would have been jumping in front of doors for years.

Glancing back at his screen, he added Tony’s number as a contact. Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all, he slid the door back open to the hotel room and stepped back inside.

Quill was watching TV from his bed but muted it as soon as Peter came in. “Everything okay?” Quill asked.

“Yeah, uh—” Peter couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face, “I just talked to Tony Stark.”

“You’re  _ joking _ ,” Quill’s jaw dropped.

“Nope,” Peter laughed.

“Tell me everything.”

* * *

As Peter lay awake in his bed the next morning, Shuri’s words from the day before rang in his memory.  _ I don’t think your life will ever be just normal ever again _ , she had said. It was already starting to seem so, that was for sure. 

“Wakey, wakey,” Quill sang, seeing Peter’s eyes were open. “How ya feelin’?”

“Like shit,” Peter admitted. “Do we have any painkillers?”

“Already ahead of you,” Quill replied. “Bruce brought some up earlier. Here.”

Quill walked over to Peter and handed him two pills and a cup of water. “Are you feeling up to doing anything today?” Quill asked, as Peter slowly sat up to take the medicine.

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I might have to take a shower and wait for these to kick in before I can figure that out.”

“Well, take your time,” Quill shrugged. “We don’t have anything specific on the docket anyway. Bruce just has some sightseeing on the schedule until the banquet later tonight.”

“M’kay,” Peter replied, stifling a yawn.

“I figured we should probably, uh… do breakfast up here?” Quill suggested.

“Okay,” Peter frowned. Why not eat downstairs?

“I’ll just bring up a little bit of everything and you can eat what you’re hungry for,” Quill said.

“Do I look that bad?” Peter wondered, getting off the bed to head to the bathroom mirror. “I figured I might have some bruises, but…”

Peter flicked on the light switch when he reached the bathroom and cursed when he saw his reflection, “Jesus, Quill! I look like Quasimodo!”

“Yeah, about that…” Quill grimaced as he looked over Peter’s shoulder. The area under each eye was dark purple and a red cut was starting to scab across the bridge of Peter’s nose. He looked like he’d been in a bar fight.

“I was thinking I could probably get you some makeup for tonight,” Quill offered.

“Shit, I might need it,” Peter replied, still inspecting his face. “Thank god I’m rooming with a homo.”

Quill laughed, “Takes one to know one. Alright, look — I’m heading downstairs for some food. I’ve been starving. I’ll be back up soon.”

“Don’t get lost,” Peter called, sarcastically.

Sighing, he turned the hot water on for the shower and stripped down. It would be nice to wash off the feeling of last night. Peter had gone to bed without even brushing his teeth, and had used the toilet in the dark — which is why he didn’t realize how terrible his face looked. 

Stepping under the warm spray, he gingerly wet his face and was prepared for the hot sting from his cut while he did so. Peter lathered his body and washed his hair, relaxing as the steam surrounded him and hot water fell down his neck, back, arms, and legs. This shower felt like one of the best he’d ever taken his life. As the tension left his body, Peter’s thoughts shifted to Tony’s voice through the phone last night. Peter’s cock twitched. He felt it grow between his legs at the thought of Tony caring enough about him to keep such close tabs. Thinking of Tony’s worried voice, his confidence, his beautiful brown eyes… 

Peter quietly moaned as he grasped his cock and pumped it. Tony Stark, genius billionaire physicist… calling  _ him _ ...

Peter’s mind drifted to the way Tony’s face crinkled with laughter. He reminisced about the warm touch to his elbow, Tony’s lewd jokes, the way his face smiled gently back at him time and time again. The way Tony sat across from him at Monday night’s private dining room, sipping wine with a calculating gaze. The way he clapped for Peter on Wednesday, the fact that he even cared enough to show up...

Peter thought back to the first time he’d ever seen Tony in person, sweeping into the hallway as if he owned the building. The scent of Tony’s cologne filled Peter’s nostrils as he focused on the memory of Tony flirting with him at the Mexican restaurant. Peter gasped softly as the olfactory memory sent shocks of electricity through his body as his balls drew up. What Peter wouldn’t give to smell it from Tony’s neck… to kiss the smirk right off his lips...

Peter stroked faster with only Tony on his mind until he came, coating the floor of the shower with thick white cum that was quickly washed away by the cascading water.

“Mmm,” Peter moaned again softly, holding his shaft until the last pulses stopped.

As reality began to shine through the dissipating haze of lust, Peter turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel, feeling more than refreshed as he fluffed his wet hair. Peter wondered absentmindedly what Quill had brought up from the hotel’s spread. He wrapped the towel around his lower half and grabbed his clothes before stepping back into the bedroom, eyes wide at the sight of giant stacks of steaming pancakes, waffles, french toast, and sides of bacon, eggs, and sausages. Clutching the dirty clothes in his arms like an actress would a string of pearls, he turned to Quill who was lounging on his bed. Eyes wide, he choked out, “ _ What. _ ”

Having visited the continental breakfast days before with Bruce, Peter knew this was not what the hotel served. The hotel served Eggo waffles. They had bagels. They had unripe diced melon and cups of low-fat Yoplait yogurt. They provided plastic cups of syrup, not glass  _ vases _ of it. They didn’t actually  _ cook _ anything here. This was not the hotel’s breakfast.

“It had just arrived at the front desk when I went downstairs. There’s a note,” Quill grinned.

Peter dropped his clothes without a second thought and reached for the tiny envelope Quill pointed to. It had his name written on it in an elegant script. He broke the seal and pulled out the piece of paper inside. It read:

_ Peter, _

_ Just in case you felt tempted to run into any more doors,  _

_ I made sure breakfast came to you.  _

_ -TS _

“This breakfast is from Tony,” Peter gaped.

Quill got up and walked over to the platters, grabbing a sausage link. He slowly pushed it into his mouth between puckered lips and took a bite, winking suggestively at Peter.

If he hadn’t been suddenly starving, Peter would have protested against Quill’s obviously crude attempt at humor. Alluding to something that certainly didn’t exist. And wasn’t happening. Wouldn’t happen.

Instead, Peter distracted himself by cramming an entire piece of bacon into his mouth and moaning along with Quill as the delicious food hit their taste buds. 

“Have you ever made,” Quill asked, grabbing a pancake, “A breakfast taco?”

“Uh…” Peter thought, watching Quill pile scrambled eggs and bacon in the center of the pancake while he himself took bites of a chocolate chip waffle. “No?”

Quill folded the pancake in half and chomped with gusto into the monstrosity. “You should try it,” he said around a mouthful. “It’s pretty amazing. Defies the laws of physics, even.”

“I think you mean it defies the laws of humanity,” Peter laughed.

It felt good to be relaxing with Quill like this, but as Peter’s stomach filled to bursting with breakfast delights he realized he should probably show his appreciation to the person who made it possible.

“I should thank Tony,” Peter said, looking around for his phone as he wiped his sticky hands on the towel around his waist. Spotting the device across the room, he picked it up and started composing an SMS to his newest contact.

“Don’t forget to include a dick pic,” Quill goaded.

“Gross,” Peter replied. “I just want to say… thanks. I mean, is “thank you” too plain? Should I send more?”

Peter stared down at the two words he’d typed into the text box. 

“We’re going to see him tonight, right?” Quill said. “You can always bring it up again later, in person.”

“That’s a good point…” 

Considering the pros and cons, Peter mustered up his courage and hit the send button.

“Sent,” Peter declared.

“Thanks for the update,” Quill replied, still eating. “So are you gonna get dressed or what? It’s practically afternoon. Let’s go outside.”

“I…” Peter thought for a moment, “Can we get some makeup on the way back?” he asked.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Quill replied, laughing. “I’ll turn you into a drag queen yet.” 

* * *

Bruce had decided to surprise Quill and Peter by taking them to Cabrillo National Monument, a tourist destination. The landmark was located on the southern tip of Point Loma, a small peninsula that provided protection for San Diego Bay from the waters of the Pacific Ocean. From the high cliffs across the bay, it boasted some of the most beautiful views of the city.

Peter had admired the steep ridges of the point leading down to the bright blue water of the Pacific. The coastline was completely different from the east coast beaches he was used to. This San Diegan view was precious to him. For the first time in his life seeing a new ocean, Peter soaked up every sensation of salty breeze, warm sunshine, and faraway crash of waves. 

After appreciating the view and getting a picture together in front of the statue of explorer Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo, the trio took a pleasant walk on dirt trails bordered by brush and short weeds and finished by checking out the museum inside the historic lighthouse. Inside the museum were the highlight of the trip — enormous glass lenses, the former workhorses that provided light to guide countless ships to safety over a century ago. The lenses reflected tiny rainbows along their beveled edges and the craftsmanship of the machinery kept Peter, Quill, and even Bruice, totally captivated.

On their way back, Bruce stopped at a drug store so that Peter and Quill could buy a few shades of foundation to touch up Peter’s bruises. By the time they arrived back at the hotel, they had only an hour left until they needed to leave for the end-of-conference banquet. 

“Makeup first,” Quill instructed as soon as they were back in their room. “You don’t want to get foundation on your suit.”

Peter nodded and went into the bathroom with Quill so he could work his magic.

Taking a sidelong glance at the mirror, Peter bit his bottom lip. “Are you sure this is going to cover it up? These bruises look terrible.”

“Do you think I, a semi-pro cosmetologist, would ever lead you astray?” Quill asked with raised eyebrows. Before Peter could answer, he started dabbing liquid foundation on the darkest spots, making Peter flinch.

About twenty minutes and the use of three—or was it four?—products later, Quill was finished. He had tried to be gentle when applying the liquid foundation, but Peter had just accepted there would be pain in beauty. Taking a deep breath, Peter turned to the mirror and inspected his face in the bathroom mirror to search for a hint of a bruise. His skin looked pretty much flawless except for the cut on his nose, even if the area under his eyes was a bit shinier than usual.

“Wow, Quill,” Peter said, clearly impressed.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, “It was the least I could do since I’m basically the reason it happened in the first place.”

“Dude, don’t say that. You couldn’t have known,” Peter replied, frowning.

Quill shrugged, putting the makeup and applicators away. “If you need a touchup during dinner let me know, I’ll keep this stuff with me.”

Peter hugged Quill tightly and left without another word to put his suit on. 

Hoping the pinstriped suit he brought along didn’t look too dated, Peter sat on the edge of the bed to tie his dress shoes. The suit had been Uncle Ben’s, but he had it tailored a few years ago. It fit, mostly.

Quill had taken a shower after their makeup session and was just now pulling on some pants. For the first time, he was wearing dress pants instead of jeans. The color of his suit was a dark red, similar to the color of his typical leather jacket. Unlike Peter’s hand-me-down, Quill’s suit looked expensive. He threaded golden cufflinks through the sleeves of his white shirt and slipped his feet into dark brown dress shoes.

Peter whistled.

“You clean up nice,” Peter said, watching Quill put his suit jacket on to complete the ensemble.

“Thanks,” Quill replied with a wink. “Are you ready?” Quill turned his wrist to check the time on a watch that matched his cufflinks. “We have about five minutes before we need to meet Bruce.”

“I’m ready,” Peter replied, standing from the bed and straightening his sapphire-colored tie.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” Quill appraised, taking in Peter’s charcoal-colored suit and shiny black dress shoes. “Are you wearing a watch?”

Peter shook his head.

“Here,” Quill said, plucking a silver watch from his bottomless duffle bag and handing it to Peter.

Peter slid it on his wrist and fastened the metal clasp. It was too big, but it added a little extra sparkle to his getup and Quill nodded as if he approved of the finishing touch.

“Let’s go, loser,” Quill grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we go. ;)

Peter fidgeted in his dress clothes after stepping into a secluded corner of the spacious reception area. Bruce and Quill had inserted themselves into conversations with ease as soon as the three of them had arrived, but Peter couldn’t quite control his nerves and sipped champagne alone instead of joining them. The banquet hall was in a separate building from the conference center they had been frequenting all week, so Peter felt like a fish out of water in his suit amid the throng of strangers. Men and women wearing fancy clothes filled the luxurious cocktail lounge, milling with drinks in the common area. Occasional laughter rang out above the dull murmur as guests made polite conversation. Waiters wearing bow ties circled groups of socializing scientists with selections of hors d'oeuvres. 

Peter absentmindedly looked for familiar faces in the crowd from his position by a large tapestry. He tried to focus on the smell of the bubbles in his flute as he took deep breaths. He felt uncharacteristically agoraphobic. 

For perhaps the first time, Peter saw Tony approaching him. He thought that the surprise appearances were a part of Tony’s _je ne sais quoi_ , but holding court in the corner seemed to have had its advantages here. Peter tried not to stare, glancing quickly from the well-dressed billionaire to other people in the crowd as Tony walked toward him, but Peter’s eyes always fell back on him. 

Tony noticed, too, his eyes not once leaving Peter’s as he strode with confidence holding his own champagne glass. After winding around the last group and ignoring someone calling his name from the bar, Tony cocked his head as he finally stopped in front of Peter.

“Peter,” he said smoothly, “You look swell tonight.”

Blood rushed to his face at the compliment. Heart beating quickly in his chest, Peter stammered, “H-hi. Hi! Hi, Tony.”

“Your face doesn’t look nearly as bad as I expected,” Tony replied, taking a sip from his glass. His gaze lingered.

“I, uh, Quill covered up the bruises for me,” Peter replied, “With makeup.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised. He actually looked surprised, “Oh?”

“The bruises are pretty dark and I… didn’t want to... to make…” Peter was losing his words and his mouth went dry as he took in the sight of Tony. Tony was wearing a three-piece navy suit with a perfectly complementary coral-colored silk paisley tie and pocket square. His beard was impeccably groomed and hair stood boyishly styled in his characteristic fashion. He was a vision.

“You’re sure you don’t have brain damage?” Tony needled, cooly. Guarded. 

“I thought I did, when I saw you calling me,” Peter replied flatly. Instantly. He wished he could take back the words as Tony’s face changed.

“Wait— let me— that didn’t come out right. I… was very happy that you called,” Peter said.

Tony’s face relaxed infinitesimally, enough for Peter to see his words made a difference, so he added, “And I wish we could have talked under different circumstances.”

That was it. Tony smiled slightly, and a sparkle returned to his eyes. “Likewise,” he said, with his deep voice. Peter was captivated.

Tony cleared his throat, “Well, I wanted to check in before the banquet started. I’m glad you made it out alright.”

“Yeah, you too,” Peter replied. Realizing how idiotic his reply was, Peter decided he could just die on the spot. His eyes went wide as he realized his faux pas, pretty much on par with telling a movie ticket cashier who wishes you to enjoy the movie yeah, _you too_. Maybe he did have brain damage, Peter thought dismally.

Tony’s face transformed into a genuine smile, looking kindly at Peter as he wallowed in embarrassment. Choosing to let the comment slide for Peter’s sake, Tony gave Peter a pat on the shoulder and turned to walk back into the crowd without another word.

Peter clapped a hand to his forehead, rubbing it as he looked around for the nearest bathroom. Maybe he could hide… if not just for the cocktail hour, maybe the whole closing ceremony? As he contemplated his options, another familiar person appeared in his periphery. It was Dr. Strange.

Peter groaned internally. If he thought this couldn’t get any worse, it had. The day—no, _week_ —had definitely just gotten worse. Strange approached Peter with an unreadable expression.

“Oh— uh— hello, Dr. Strange,” Peter greeted with a higher-than-usual voice.

“Parker,” Strange replied, stopping in nearly the same spot Tony had just vacated. Strange, wearing a dark suit and with his hair slicked back, towered as tall as ever over Peter.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Strange said. He took his hand out of his pocket and offered it in a handshake.

“Th-thanks?” Peter replied, gently shaking Strange’s hand.

“I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier this week,” Strange replied. “It was childish, despite the justifiable circumstances. Please excuse my temper.”

Peter nodded, unsure of how to reply to Strange’s apology. 

“It would be nice to have another working lunch sometime,” Strange went on, “I’m also local to Boston.”

Feeling like he was in the Twilight Zone, Peter replied with a positive tone, “Absolutely. Sure. I’d like that a lot.” After all, if Strange was in his field, Peter was sure there was a lot he could learn.

“Welcome to the Avengers,” Stephen nodded with a tight smile. “Would you care to be introduced to Heimdall and Brunnhilde?”

“Oh, sure,” Peter replied, recalling that Shuri told him the Asgardians were friends of Thor.

Stephen raised his hand to hail the tall, beautiful people to come talk to Peter. Rooted to the spot, Peter watched Brunnhilde glimmer as she glided across the floor in a sequined turquoise gown. Heimdall was equally dapper, wearing a golden suit with a matching tie.

“Brunnhilde, Heimdall, this is Peter,” Stephen said by way of introduction.

“A pleasure,” Brunnhilde smiled.

Heimdall reached out to shake Peter’s hand. “I went to your presentation,” Heimdall said. “You did very well.”

“Thank you,” Peter said graciously. “Did— did either of you come this week to present something yourselves?”

“No,” Brunnhilde replied, “We’re attending with Thor and learning what technologies are being developed internationally. It’s been quite interesting.”

“Asgard seeks to fund scientific research with humanitarian applications whenever possible,” Heimdall added.

“I see,” Peter replied.

Brunnhilde smiled, “We look forward to seeing what you will bring to the table.”

“We just hope Tony doesn’t corrupt you in the process,” Heimdall added, suddenly gruff.

“Oh,” Peter said quietly. 

“Let’s not dwell,” Stephen diverted. “Peter, would you like another drink?” he asked, noting his glass was empty.

“I’m not sure…” Peter hesitated, “Oh— there’s Bruce. Excuse me, it was wonderful to meet you. I need to go speak with my advisor about something—”

Edging out of the circle with a smile plastered on his face, Peter walked as quickly as he could without being unforgivably impolite. Breathing a sigh through pursed lips, he wished the night was over already. He really wasn’t in the mood to socialize tonight, even though in other circumstances he suspected Heimdall and Brunnhilde would have been very interesting to talk to.

Catching up with Bruce who was just leaving the open bar, Peter asked, “Hey, any idea how much longer ‘til the banquet starts?”

“By my watch, maybe five or ten minutes?” Bruce replied casually, still walking.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter said. He looked around for Quill.

Spotting him was easy since Quill was so tall. Peter deposited his empty champagne flute on a passing tray held by a waiter as he walked, eventually finding Quill in a pleasant conversation with Scott.

“Hey, guys,” Peter said as he neared the two.

“Peter!” Quill grinned. He patted Peter’s shoulder with an outstretched arm. His dark red suit looked dashing among the men that had all gone for darker colors, Heimdall excluded.

“How’ve you been feeling?” Scott asked, taking a sip of his beer. “I heard you had a bit of an incident last night.”

“It was nothing,” Peter replied, hoping he could try to never talk about it again. But— did this mean all of the Avengers knew?

“Scott was just telling me he had a riveting discussion with T’Challa about a new GPS tracker for wildlife,” Quill said, picking up on Peter’s vibe.

“Oh, right— honestly, I think using the space station as an additional satellite to help triangulate fixes on animal movements would be a really excellent—” Scott was suddenly cut off as seven sets of doors along the cocktail lounge’s far wall opened simultaneously to reveal the elegant ballroom. 

“Looks like that’s our cue,” Quill said.

As the three made their way into the decorated banquet space, Scott continued his train of thought with Quill. Peter largely tuned them out as he took in the room’s details. Dozens of round tables covered in white tablecloths were arranged in front of a small stage with a podium and projector screen. As they walked, Peter saw each place setting had a name placard. 

“Oh, assigned seating,” he murmured.

Quill heard him and replied, “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be together.”

They walked ahead to where Bruce had found a spot by Natasha. “Let’s see if we’re with Bruce,” Quill said.

“Hey, Peter,” Clint greeted, falling in step with Peter and Quill to the same destination. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, noncommittal.

“It’s a lot of fanfare,” Clint shrugged, “but can be entertaining if you just sit back and watch.”

Peter smiled. That was basically what he had been happy to do, so far.

Quill was right. Peter and Quill were seated to the right of Bruce, facing the stage. The table they were assigned was one of the closest to the stage, in fact. Glancing at the podium, Peter figured Tony would only be about twenty feet away. Peter looked around apprehensively to see if he was seated at a different table already.

He was. Tony was sitting by Carol Danvers, a table away from Peter’s but still close to the stage and at the front of the room. Rhodey, Nick Fury, T’Challa, Thor, and Strange were also seated with him.

Peter released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

A waitress appeared at their table, and Peter was surprised to see she was wearing a bow tie just like the other servers had been. She took everyone’s order from a choice of fish, chicken, or steak and disappeared just as a second man appeared with a bottle of red wine.

Peter accepted a glass, but heard Scott request another beer once the waiter reached the other side of the table. Natasha declined as well, waiting for a third waiter that offered white.

“Honestly, it’s just unfathomable that he would try to cut the budget so close to our deadline,” Peter heard Natasha say.

“This is why I’m not a fan of involving the government,” Clint replied dryly.

“There is no way the United States wasn’t going to want a hand in this, though,” Bruce replied. “And with regulations come restrictions, as always.”

Peter watched the professors and tried to make sense of what they were talking about.

“Are you guys talking about POTUS?” Quill asked, not quietly.

Peter suppressed a laugh. Quill had never been one for subtlety.

“Yes,” Bruce replied. “It’s a bit of a sore subject.”

“He’s trying to downsize the whole operation. It’s ridiculous,” Natasha said.

“Budget cuts?” Peter asked.

“Right,” said Clint.

“And, what, there’s no way to get around it?” Scott asked, sipping his beer.

“Tony refuses to replace the cut funding with his own, out of principle,” Natasha answered. “I can’t say that I disagree with him, but we’ve also certainly passed the limits of what privatized space pioneering can accomplish without the green light from the government.”

“What’s it gonna take to get it back on track?” Scott asked.

“Not sure,” Natasha glanced at Peter. “We think using part of the project as a way to provide future services or revenue to the military might bring a compromise, but at the moment we’re at an impasse.”

“So, you’re saying part of the tech going into the launch could be sold to the military... to compensate for the restricted budget?” Peter asked.

“Precisely,” Natasha replied.

Everyone at the table fell quiet for a moment. 

“Sounds like a real pain in the ass,” Quill said.

Their table’s server returned, placing a salad in front of each person. Peter poked at the lettuce with his fork, not feeling particularly hungry.

Scott and Clint were making small talk on the other side of the table about their kids, and Bruce and Natasha were back in a conversation between themselves as well. Stomach turning, Peter stood up and excused himself. “I’ll be back,” he murmured.

Walking quickly, he passed the bathroom nearest the ballroom and instead detoured through the cocktail lounge toward the entrance. Peter turned at the coat check and stepped into a smaller men’s room that he hoped would be less occupied.

It wasn’t empty. But Peter’s disappointment turned into a mix of excitement and horror when he realized it was Tony washing his hands at the sink.

“Great minds think alike,” Tony smirked, shutting off the faucet and grabbing a paper towel. He dried his hands and tossed the wadded ball into the trash a few feet away, next to where Peter had stopped by the door.

“I guess so,” Peter agreed. 

“Having fun?” Tony asked, leaning against the sink counter.

“Well, it’s— I mean, it’s okay,” Peter sighed. “What about you? I mean, are you nervous about speaking?”

“No,” Tony scoffed, “I do this too often.”

“Oh, right,” Peter replied lamely.

Tony stared at Peter, not moving a muscle. Peter shuffled his feet a little, feeling butterflies. “I— uh…”

“I don’t appreciate you making me worry about you,” Tony said.

Tony moved from his place by the sink, taking a few calculated steps to stand right in front of Peter. A voice in the back of Peter’s brain told him this was breaking the typical invisible perimeter of personal space generally classified as intimate based on a section he had covered in a psychology class. 

The goosebumps on his arms told him the same thing instinctually. 

Tony’s brown eyes connected with his, almost level with Peter’s gaze. They stood for a moment, not speaking. Not doing anything except looking at each other. Then Tony said, “It would be a real shame to miss the opportunity to get to know you.”

Peter still felt paralyzed, but he could feel the blush rising to his cheeks and his eyes dilating. Peter breathed in and noticed Tony’s musky cologne. His new favorite smell. The butterflies grew in intensity. At any moment, they would surely burst out of Peter’s chest. 

Tony standing there made Peter feel hyper-aware of every inch of his own body. He could feel sweat prickling at the back of his neck as he became very inexplicably hot.

With a husky voice, Peter said, “You smell really, really good.” It was literally the only thought he could put into words.

Tony’s eyes glanced down at Peter’s lips, then over to Peter’s shoulder and back to his tie. As if he couldn’t stop himself, he reached out to adjust Peter’s tie gently.

Peter swallowed thickly. “I— um, I— th— thank you, for— for breakfast this morning,” he stammered.

Tony smiled kindly. He then leaned in, mouth held inches from Peter’s ear, to whisper, “You’re welcome.”

A tiny noise escaped Peter’s throat. Tony pulled back, his smile vacillating between an expression Peter couldn’t recognize, and tenderness. Peter was a mess. As soon as Tony had leaned in, Peter’s cock had grown rock hard. Tony took a step back, looking Peter up and down, certainly not missing the bulge in his pants. 

“Catch you later, Peter,” Tony winked at him, and left.

Overwhelmed, and still needing to pee, Peter quickly shut himself in a stall and waited until he calmed down. Once his breathing was under control and he was able to collect his composure, he relieved himself and steeled his facial expression before rejoining the table in the ballroom. The smell of Tony’s cologne lingered in his nose as he walked across the beautiful cocktail lounge, Tony’s words echoing over and over in Peter’s head. He was going to have a very hard time paying attention to much of anything tonight.

By the time Peter reached his place, there was a plate of chicken and asparagus waiting for him. Quill was already halfway through eating his steak and potatoes. “Did you fall in?” Quill asked.

“No,” Peter blushed, hoping Quill would drop it.

Peter cut into his chicken and chewed slowly. It was fantastic, of course. Perfectly cooked. Trying to redirect his train of thought, Peter said to Quill, “Adjusting back to home cooking should be interesting after this week.”

“Easy Mac definitely won’t taste the same,” Quill replied with a smirk. He knew Peter’s time and budget rarely allowed for anything more complicated than ramen or fast mac and cheese. “Well hey, maybe I can have you and Ned over and cook you guys something.”

“Yeah? That would be great. You have a grill, right?” Peter asked, still eating.

Quill put down his fork and started counting on his fingers, obnoxiously, “And a yard, and three bedrooms, and a one and a half b—”

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re a grown man with a house!” Peter laughed.

Maybe this evening would go more smoothly than Peter had anticipated.

The lights suddenly dimmed in the ballroom and Wanda Maximoff stepped up to the podium on the stage. Illuminated by a stage light, she spoke into a microphone to get everyone’s attention.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone. I hope you have all enjoyed this year’s International Conference on Nanoparticle and Space Technology. It is my pleasure to introduce tonight’s speaker, Tony Stark —”

Or maybe not. Peter swallowed, feeling his cock twitch. 

“— Mr. Stark is the owner of Stark Industries and a world-renowned physicist who has made groundbreaking discoveries in more than one discipline of science. He is a Massachusetts Institute of Technology graduate, where he earned recognition in robotics design. Today, Mr. Stark is leading innovation in nanotechnology, spacecraft design, and renewable energy. We are pleased to have him here tonight, so please give him a warm welcome.”

Wanda stepped back from the podium as Tony took the stairs on the side of the stage. The ballroom was filled with applause.

“Thank you, Wanda,” Tony said into the mic.

Peter’s cock was definitely getting hard. He fidgeted in his chair, cursing under his breath and checking to make sure the napkin in his lap would hide his predicament.

“I am so glad to be here,” Tony started by saying, eyes sweeping across the room to land for a heartbeat on Peter’s face. They made eye contact before he continued looking at the rest of the crowd. 

“I am especially thankful that we are able to use this opportunity as scientists to share our progress in research and technology. Making connections is essential to growth. And although I have made some significant findings working _independently_ ,” Tony laughed, getting a chuckle out of the crowd, “I can say with confidence that I have made the most progress and best advancements by working with others.”

“In the theme of this year’s conference, I want to highlight some interdisciplinary collaborations I have done. Not only has this teamwork reduced the amount of time it has taken to solve challenging problems, but it also has just made my work downright more enjoyable,” Tony went on.

Peter was already losing concentration as he focused on the movement of Tony’s body as he spoke. He glanced at the projector to see new slides every once in a while, but mainly he just watched Tony. The things Tony talked about were not his greatest achievements, but the collaborations that had all resulted in something special — a new textile with Natasha, fuel cells with Carol, vibranium forging with T’Challa. 

Peter looked around as another murmur of laughter swept across the banquet hall. Tony really knew how to control a room. For some reason, this realization just made Peter’s butterflies come back.

“What connects all of these projects is that collaboration resulted in something not a single one of us could have accomplished alone,” Tony said.

“So with that, I leave you with a bit of inspiration. Go out. Find other people. Put your heads together, and make something great.”

The audience thundered in applause. Tony nodded, giving a smile to the guests, and departed the podium to retake his seat.

“Not half bad,” Quill said.

“Tony’s always been a great speaker,” Bruce agreed.

“Natasha, I had no idea you worked with Tony for a few years on that textile,” Quill commented.

“Oh, yes, we worked pretty closely,” Natasha replied. “He’s come a long way. This isn’t the same Tony from twenty years ago… he used to be quite the narcissist.”

“What changed?” Scott asked.

Natasha shrugged, “Hard to say. I think he mainly just realized he wanted to do something more meaningful with his life. Don’t we all?”

Clint nodded, staring at the tablecloth.

“Oh, it looks like dessert is being served at the back of the room. Quill, Peter, you still hungry?” Bruce knew his students well—of course they were still hungry.

“Mmmm, don’t have to ask me twice,” Quill said, eyeing the table covered in cakes, cheesecakes, cookies, pies, and truffles.

Now that Tony was seated and Peter’s brain had a chance to take a break from being inundated by Tony-isms, his erection was flagging and Peter thought it might actually be possible to stand up.

“Yeah, let’s go man,” Peter said, putting his napkin on the table as he moved his chair back.

The pair walked to the table and found Shuri there with a slice of vanilla cake. “Hi, guys!” she greeted, brightly. The dress she had chosen to wear was nothing short of gorgeous. It was royal purple satin, gleaming elegantly in the dim lighting. 

“Hey, how are you?” Peter asked, wasting no time to snag a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m well. I spent some time today with my brother, which was actually a very nice break,” she said.

“What did you guys do?” Quill asked. He was sipping a cup of coffee to wash down a truffle.

“We visited the art museum,” Shuri said. “I think my favorite exhibit was of the contemporary pieces.”

“That’s awesome,” Quill replied. “We went to the Cabrillo monument today with Bruce.”

“Oh, very fun!” Shuri said with a smile. “Was there anything interesting there?” 

“I think we all really liked the historic Fresnel lenses,” Peter replied. “They magnify the light of oil lamps in lighthouses, it was really cool.”

“Sounds like it,” Shuri said. “Do you guys fly out tomorrow or Sunday? If you have time, maybe we could all do a little more sightseeing?”

“Unfortunately, we’re leaving tomorrow,” Quill said. “But if you ever come to Boston we’d be really happy to show you around.”

“Absolutely,” Peter agreed, taking another bite of cake, feeling a twinge of sadness at the thought of leaving.

“Natasha and I are located in New York, so maybe we’ll make a trip up to tour Bruce’s lab before I apply,” Shuri said.

“We’d love to have you,” Peter affirmed. A small memory in the back of his head reminded him that Tony had invited him to visit New York. Stark Tower, to be precise. He wondered if the offer still stood.

“Well,” Shuri sighed, “I suppose I should actually go find Natasha. She was sitting with you near the stage, right?” 

“Yes, she’s still over there by Bruce,” Quill offered, craning his neck to see.

“Goodbye, guys,” Shuri said, lip pouting. She gave them each a one-armed hug, holding her plate in the other hand. “It was great to meet and get to know you both. I hope I’ll be in your lab soon!”

“Bye, Shuri!” Peter said. 

Suddenly feeling very tired, Peter turned his wrist to check the time. It was already close to nine thirty, and the thought of a cozy bed seemed very appealing.

“Hey, Quill,” Peter said, “I think I might head back to the hotel. I’m beat.”

“Yeah?” Quill asked, holding a hand up to Peter’s forehead. “What’s up? You sick?”

“No, I…” Peter glanced around, “I just feel like it was a pretty eventful night.”

“Alright,” Quill said, frowning. “Well, I can see if Bruce is ready to drive us back—”

“No, no, I’ll just call an Uber,” Peter said quickly.

Quill squinted at Peter, rubbing his beard as he considered it, “I don’t know… after the other night I feel kind of weird leaving you alone.” 

“I’ll call you as soon as I’m back at the hotel,” Peter promised. “Better yet, hey, you can see my driver and if they look like a skeezball I’ll just stay here.”

“Hm,” Quill thought. “Okay, deal.”

Peter pulled out his phone and opened the app, plugging in the address to their hotel as a destination. “Says here Kristina will arrive in three minutes,” Peter read.

“Let’s go, then,” Quill replied, grabbing another truffle as they headed toward the cocktail lounge.

They walked side by side, Peter occasionally yawning until they reached the venue’s exit. Pushing through the revolving glass door, they stepped onto the sidewalk and waited for the blue Subaru to pull up.

“You had a good night, though?” Quill asked.

“Yeah, it was great. Thanks again for making me look decent,” Peter said with a tired smile.

“Of course,” Quill said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Looks like this might be your car.”

Squinting through the passenger window, Quill walked with Peter to the car and leaned down to see who was inside. A middle-aged woman with a short haircut sat in the driver’s seat, surprised to see two people outside. “Uh, Peter Parker?” she asked, checking her phone that was mounted to the air vent.

“That’s me,” Peter said as he got in. “This is just my friend, he’s not coming.”

“Get him back safe, please,” Quill said with a stern expression through the car’s window.

“Sure thing,” she said, tone definitely giving off the vibe that she thought this was kind of weird.

Peter waved at Quill through the window as the car pulled away, and he slumped in the seat as they continued down the road. The woman glanced at him curiously in her rearview mirror but didn’t say anything. 

They continued driving in silence without any conversation until they reached Peter’s hotel about fifteen minutes later. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Peter said, popping open the door as she parked in the valet loop. He got out and shut the door behind him, breathing in a deep breath of fresh air as the Subaru pulled away. He took a few steps toward the hotel entrance, but faltered when he heard the roar of an engine pulling up behind him.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but a shard of hope burned in Peter’s chest as he turned around. Peter’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Tony. He was in the driver’s side of a _very_ expensive sports car idling in the exact spot the Uber driver had just left. Glancing at the emblem, Peter saw it was a Bugatti.

“What did I say about doing unsafe things at night?” Tony chided through the rolled-down passenger window.

“I— I— Tony, did you _follow_ me?”

“Of course,” he said, waving his hand as if it was a non-issue. “Now get in.”

Peter stood rooted to the spot, unable to make a move.

Tony rolled his eyes, “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine. But I was planning on coming by later tonight to pick you up anyway, it just so happened that you decided to pull this stunt—”

Tony stopped speaking briefly as Peter stepped forward and opened the passenger door, getting in.

“So I had to make sure you got here okay,” Tony finished.

“Riding in an Uber is hardly unsafe,” Peter replied, feeling a strange swell of confidence.

“That’s what you said about the last situation that got you into an unfortunate predicament,” Tony smiled.

“Yet here I am, alive to tell the tale,” Peter shot back.

“Fair enough,” Tony laughed, turning to face the road as he started pulling away from the hotel. “Put your seatbelt on,” he told Peter.

“Where— where are we going?” Peter asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Tony said.

“So you’re telling me a man I just met last week, driving me to an unknown location, is so much safer than—”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “I can let you out. You can go to bed, grandpa,” Tony smirked, eyes dropping to Peter’s lap, “... or do whatever else it was you had planned.” 

Peter blushed. “I’m not complaining,” he said.

“Good,” Tony replied.

“I liked your talk.” 

Tony nodded, indifferent. 

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed, suddenly remembering something. “I have to let Quill know I made it,” he said. Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent Quill a quick message. 

_Made it to hotel. On adventure with Tony. Idk when I’ll be back_

“I like that guy,” Tony replied, absentmindedly, merging onto I-5.

“He’s a really good friend,” Peter sighed. “Quill looks out for me a lot.”

“And you’re not… seeing him?” Tony asked delicately.

“What? NO!” Peter replied, mortified. “No no no. Just friends,” he squeaked. Peter blushed, grateful for the cover of night keeping the lavish interior of the car dark enough to hide his complexion.

Tony smiled to himself but didn’t say anything back. 

“You— you said… you were going to pick me up tonight, even if I didn’t take the Uber?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Tony replied. “I had absolutely planned on it.”

“Why?” Peter bit his lip.

There was a pause.

“To get to know you,” Tony said.

“Oh,” Peter breathed. A beat. “I… I’d like to get to know you, too.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Tony said, smiling as he glanced over at Peter. They took the next exit off of the highway, and Peter counted his blessings that Tony was a much less reckless driver than Quill.

After finishing the turn to leave the exit ramp, Tony reached over and grasped Peter’s hand. He moved his fingertips between Peter’s, and the two interlaced their fingers to hold hands for the first time.

Peter was amazed at how electric simply holding hands could feel. Tony’s thumb brushed over his skin in slow motions, and even that simple touch made Peter’s heart pound faster.

They were crossing a bridge now in the Bugatti. The dark water on Peter’s side reflected the moonlight, but they were too close to the city to see many stars.

“Are we going to the beach?” Peter asked.

“You guessed it,” Tony grinned. “I knew I had my sights set on a boy genius, but sheesh, didn’t know you were a detective too.”

Peter giggled. A full on, embarrassing non-masculine laugh. It would have been even more embarrassing if Tony hadn’t squeezed his hand while his breath caught at the sound.

They turned off the bridge and navigated some city streets, passing a Starbucks and some seafood restaurants. “Did you get a chance to eat?” Peter wondered. “I mean, I— we— uh, there wasn’t much time before you had to get up and speak tonight.”

“I didn’t have much of an appetite, actually,” Tony confessed, staring into Peter’s eyes.

The light turned green. Tony’s attention went back to driving, and Peter fidgeted. 

“There’s something about you, Peter,” Tony murmured. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Probably just my charm and good looks,” Peter joked, feigning confidence.

“Oh yes, good looks absolutely. You’re a dime.” 

“Takes one to know one,” Peter shot back.

“Well I couldn’t possibly pursue you if I wasn’t a beautiful, well-groomed, hunk of a man myself,” Tony winked.

“Mm, yes,” Peter continued his charade with a hint of lighthearted sarcasm, “Not to mention how super wealthy and accomplished I am, plus I’m a genius, as you’ve said—”

Tony laughed, “There’s the Peter I’ve been looking for.”

“What?” Peter asked, laughing a little with Tony.

“You’re shy, but I know you can be confident when the mood strikes you. I like to hear you dish it out.”

Peter smiled, suddenly feeling warm that Tony saw more in him than most people did.

“What? Don’t stop now, you were on a roll.”

Mustering up all of his confidence, Peter said in the sexiest voice he could conjure, “I can dish out a lot of things I’m in the mood.” The overt flirting was taking a lot of effort, but Peter didn’t want to lose momentum with the amazing man that had graced his existence. 

“Oh ho ho,” Tony laughed. “Pete, keep talking like that and you’re going to be the one giving _me_ a stiffy.”

Peter smiled, rubbing his thumb across Tony’s hand. “There’s not usually a lot of talking involved, actually.”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Tony groaned, pulling off from the road into a parking lot for a beach. The parking lot was empty. It was still too early in the season for late-night beachgoers. 

After coming to a stop and turning off the engine, Tony popped his seat belt and exited the driver side with lightning speed. He circled around the front of the car in the time it took Peter to unbuckle too and wonder what Tony was doing.

When Tony reached Peter’s door, he opened it for him and held out a hand to help Peter get out of the low-riding car. As soon as Peter was out, Tony shut the door and gently guided Peter back against it. 

Tony pressed his body against Peter’s, hand caressing the side of his face. The warmth of Tony’s body felt comforting, and every thought left Peter’s brain as his senses were filled with the presence of the billionaire standing in front of him.

Peter’s hands came to rest at the middle of Tony’s back, feeling the smooth fabric of his suit jacket. Tony’s breath ghosted against Peter’s lips, and with a slow motion Tony took Peter’s mouth in a gentle kiss. Tony’s facial hair brushed roughly against Peter’s chin as their lips turned to lock passionately. 

The kiss evolved from gentle, questioning, hesitant to deep, slow, steady. Tony’s tongue swept over Peter’s lips, and Peter opened his mouth slightly to return the favor. Peter’s hands fisted in a tight grip of Tony’s suit. In response, Tony’s hips pressed forward into Peter’s as they both became aroused by overwhelming sensations. 

The bulge in Tony’s pants was unmistakable, and Peter felt intoxicated by the feeling, enough to whimper with excitement.

Tony pulled back at the noise, looking deep into Peter’s eyes as they both breathed heavily. The older man cleared his throat.

“Do you want to walk on the beach?” Tony murmured, absentmindedly caressing Peter’s ear with his thumb. He didn’t move an inch from his position against Peter’s body.

“I— uh… I…” Peter stammered, brain rebooting.

Tony leaned in for one more kiss, no tongue this time. He held Peter’s face gently between his hands, pressing his lips once, twice, three times to Peter’s. He dropped his hands to Peter’s shoulders and waited for him to speak.

 _No_ , Peter thought, _let’s keep doing this_ , he wanted to say. 

“Beach?” Peter said instead.

Tony’s hardness moved away from Peter’s, and Peter sighed with frustration at the loss.

“Come on, let’s see the ocean,” Tony said, grabbing Peter’s right hand with his left.

Peter didn’t know what to say, but went along with Tony as he walked toward the beach. Peter kept glancing at Tony's face. The billionaire loosened his tie with his free hand and turned to Peter when they reached the sand. 

“Take your shoes off,” he said.

Peter quickly unlaced his dress shoes and stuffed his socks inside of them. Tony placed his designer oxfords on the concrete wall by the opening that led to the expanse of beach, so Peter put his pair next to Tony’s and grabbed his hand once more as they took their first steps onto the sand.

“I’ve never seen the Pacific this close before,” Peter admitted to Tony, watching the waves crash as they made their way slowly across the cool sand.

“Then I’m glad you’re getting to experience it with me,” Tony replied with a smile. “Have you traveled anywhere outside of the East Coast before?” 

“No,” Peter admitted. “But it’s really nice here, and I’d like to do more of it. Travel, I mean.”

They stopped just shy of the border where dry sand turned to wet. 

Turning to face him, Tony took in Peter’s light curly hair and boyish features reflecting the moonlight just right. “You’re so gorgeous, Peter,” he said.

Tony touched Peter’s face with his free hand and briefly kissed him once again. As Tony moved back, Peter caught Tony’s hand against his face and leaned in for another. But after a few moments of making out, the billionaire-genius stopped Peter from getting too heated and pulled away once again.

“Why?” Peter whined, erection still pushing hard against the front of his pants.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Tony said, echoing an earlier sentiment. He reached up and tugged Peter’s tie, loosening it and undoing the top button of his shirt.

“Roll up your pants, we’re going to get wet.”

“What?” Peter asked, dazed. He watched as Tony bent over and cuffed his trousers, rolling them carelessly, as if the suit didn’t cost thousands of dollars. Peter followed Tony’s lead, doing the same with his own dress pants.

Without a word, Tony strode toward the ocean. His feet stepped into the wake from a receding wave.

Peter followed Tony, gasping at how cold the water was on his toes and bare feet. The feeling grounded him, wiping away some of the lusty haze that had clouded his brain. He could feel his erection beginning to flag.

“It’s cold!” Peter exclaimed.

“That’s sort of the point,” Tony laughed.

Coming to Tony’s side, Peter grabbed his hand once more. Their fingers interlaced. 

Peter looked up to Tony’s face, and the older man’s eyes locked with his as they heard the crash of another wave. They both felt the rush of cold water run over their feet, splash up their ankles, and finally reach their calves. Their feet sank into the sand as the water reversed, pulling on their legs as if to coax them in further toward the sea.

“Incredible,” Peter murmured.

“Just what I was thinking,” Tony replied. 

* * *

They stood in the ocean until Peter couldn’t feel his toes any longer. The ocean breeze was starting to cut through their suits and brought goosebumps to Peter’s skin. Tony shivered, and said, “Maybe it’s time for us to head back.”

Regretfully, Peter nodded.

Peter and Tony trudged slowly toward the car, dry sand sticking to their wet skin. They never stopped holding hands, even when they grabbed their shoes and continued barefoot to the car. Tony walked Peter to the passenger side and gave him a quick kiss before opening the door for him.

Peter bent over to brush some sand off of his feet, but Tony told him, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll have it cleaned.”

“Are— are you sure?” Peter asked.

“Just get in, beautiful.”

Peter did. Tony gently shut the door behind him, then put his shoes in the Bugatti’s tiny trunk before getting in the driver’s side.

This time, Tony pushed a button to play some music in the car, but he turned the volume down low so he could still hear Peter talk. AC/DC started flowing through the speakers. Without a word, Tony pulled out of the parking space and put them back on the road to the hotel.

Peter was already missing Tony. Feeling irrationally emotional, he blinked back tears and squeezed Tony’s hand as he stared out the windshield. Tomorrow, he would be leaving. And he wasn’t sure when he would get to see Tony again.

They drove in silence past the Starbucks and across the bridge. When they reached the highway, Tony cleared his throat.

“I’d like to visit after finals,” Tony said. “To see your synthetic silk at the lab.”

“Really?” Peter replied, hope blooming in his chest. He might see Tony in as little as a week?

“I want to check it out in person,” he said, squeezing Peter’s hand.

“That— yeah, that would be fantastic. You— you should definitely come.”

“I’ll be pretty busy next week in some company meetings,” Tony said, “but… keep in touch, okay?”

“Sure,” Peter blushed. “You’ll be back in New York, I guess?” 

“Mmhm,” Tony sighed. “Not really looking forward to the briefing I’m going to get from Pepper, but at least I’m not the CEO anymore.” 

“When’s your flight?” 

“Sunday,” Tony replied. “Private jet. You’d like it.”

Peter tried not to seem overtly shocked. If the man could afford a Bugatti, a private plane probably wasn’t out of the question.

They exited the highway and Peter started to recognize a few landmarks leading to the hotel. He sighed.

“I— I— I’ll miss you,” Peter stammered softly. He could see the hotel down the road, and knew his time with Tony was very limited.

“Don’t worry,” Tony replied, “I’ll see you very soon.”

Peter chewed on his bottom lip, staring at their intertwined hands in silence. “I think there’s something about you, too,” Peter said.

Tony turned into the hotel parking lot, driving into the loop that led to the front entrance. He parked, giving Peter his full attention and taking him in with his warm, kind, brown eyes.

“Good night, Peter,” Tony said, touching Peter’s face tenderly.

“Good night,” he replied, leaning like a magnet to meet Tony halfway for a goodbye kiss. 

They kissed slowly, with feeling. As if they had all the time in the world.

When Tony pulled away, Peter’s heart fluttered. He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his shoes from the floor of the car, opening the door to step outside with his bare feet on the pavement.

After closing the door and taking a few steps back, Peter gave a little wave and turned to walk inside. As soon as the hotel doors closed behind him, he heard the roar of the engine as Tony drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. All of your comments and kudos mean the world to me, and have kept me writing through even the worst blocks recently. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter are apart the week after the conference, but that doesn't mean they've forgotten each other.

“So let me get this straight. _You_ went on a _date_ with _Tony Stark_.”

Quill was in the middle of packing up his duffle bag and seeking out the various articles of clothing that had been strewn around his side of the room during the week. He had slept through Peter coming back in the middle of the night, and was both incredulous and excited to hear all of the juicy gossip from Peter now. 

“I mean—yeah, I guess you could call it that,” Peter grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt giddy with memories of the night before.

As soon as Peter’s alarm had gone off that morning, he sent Tony a short text. _Good morning_ , was all he had dared to type. 

Peter blushed and stammered while he told Quill about romantic details of how they had kissed. More than once. Peter’s phone buzzed, interrupting him, and he swooned after reading the new message from Tony. _Good morning, sweet thing_ , the text said.

“I can’t even explain how amazing this is,” Peter blushed.

“I think I have an idea,” Quill chuckled, throwing one last item into the duffle. “You’re basically lighting up this entire room.”

The excitement from the morning slowly faded throughout the day. Quill and Peter checked out from the hotel with Bruce after eating one last continental breakfast, then took the rental car back to the agency before their afternoon flight. 

Little things reminded Peter of Tony as they went through the motions of the day. Taking his shoes off at TSA. An executive waiting at the gate with them wearing an expensive silk tie. A woman rushing through the terminal holding a fish taco.

Over time, each reminder became more bitter than sweet.

On the flight itself, Peter resigned to listening to sad music and found it only fitting that it was raining in Boston when they landed. Having left San Diego at two o’clock, by the time they landed six hours later at Logan International it was already 11 pm on the east coast. 

The three of them retrieved their checked bags from the luggage carousel and walked toward the shuttle to the parking garage. It was a long wait but a short ride, followed by a lift on the elevator. 

“Pretty sure we’re on the fourth floor…” Quill murmured, punching another elevator button after Bruce had hit the one for five.

The duo said goodbye to Bruce as they exited the elevator car to wander in search of Quill’s car, finally locating the Milano in a far corner. 

Peter and Quill rode without much conversation back to Peter’s apartment. Cheerful seventies hits filled the silence instead. A small comfort.

After being dropped off and thanking Quill for the ride, Peter lugged his bag up his building’s stairs and to the central elevator. The relief of finally reaching his apartment door felt like completing the worlds’ longest pilgrimage.

Peter kicked his sneakers off at the door, leaving his suitcase and backpack by the entrance before walking slowly over to the couch. Peter closed his eyes as he sank into the cushions and grabbed his phone to open his messages.

The first text he sent was to Aunt May. _Made it back to Boston_ , he sent.

The next was to Tony.

Peter stared at his screen while he thought about what to say. Tony was still in San Diego and it was only 9:30 on the Pacific coast, which explained why Peter wasn’t tired even though the clock at the top of his phone said it was after midnight.

After typing and deleting several sentences, Peter finally sent a text.

_Back home in Cambridge_

Peter sighed. He was hungry and not ready for bed at all. He wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge in the darkness to see what was inside. He decided on cereal, because it was easy, and shook a pile of Cheerios into a bowl before covering them with milk. Grabbing a spoon, he returned to the couch and started munching until he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

Peter pulled his phone out and set it on his knee. Tony texted him back.

_3,026 miles never felt so far_

Peter smiled at the nerdy response. Balancing his bowl in one hand, he tapped the keyboard on his knee to send a reply.

_Did you google that?_

_Nope. I just know everything_

Peter could hear Tony’s sarcasm through the tiny chat bubble. 

Another message appeared from Tony. _Tired?_

 _Not at all. What are you up to?_ Peter sent.

He had to wait a few minutes for a response, but the next message from Tony was a selfie. It was a poorly-lit shot of him sitting on the patio of a restaurant. Strings of patio lights decorated the background. From what Peter could tell, he was wearing his usual t-shirt and blazer.

Peter wished he was there, but didn’t want to say that. Instead, he texted something simple.

_Looks fun_

_Drinks with Clint,_ Tony sent.

For some reason, that made Peter feel relieved. He finished his cereal and set the bowl in the sink, grabbing his backpack before going to his room. Peter turned his desk lamp on, stretched out in bed, and opened his laptop on his belly to load a movie he had pirated through a VPN and saved to his hard drive.

Another message buzzed from Tony.

_What finals do you have this week?_

Peter noticed Tony had double texted twice now and wasn’t sure if that was his generational naiveté or because he really just wanted to talk to Peter. Maybe both? It wasn’t bothering Peter, though, that was for sure.

 _Synthetic o-chem and statistical thermodynamics,_ Peter replied. He lazily clicked open his file system and launched a random Star Wars.

 _Plus proctoring_ , he added.

A new message appeared. _Talk dirty to me_ , Tony said.

Peter smiled. The soundtrack music was beginning to play softly through the speakers of his computer, but his attention was mainly focused on his phone.

_I can help you with thermodynamics if you want a study buddy_

_Exam is Tuesday..._ Peter sent.

 _So call me tomorrow?_ Tony texted back almost immediately.

 _Sure,_ Peter replied, adding the upside-down smile emoji for good measure.

There were a few minutes that went by without another incoming message, so Peter set his phone on his chest to make sure he wouldn’t miss the next buzz. He watched the scene unfold on his laptop. Uncle Owen had just bought R2D2 and C3PO from the Jawas on Tatooine.

Peter’s chest vibrated. He picked up his phone to read the next text.

_Heading back to my room. What are you entertaining yourself with tonight?_

Peter considered sending back a flirtatious reply, but didn’t want to come off too strong.

 _Just watching star wars_ , he said.

_What episode?_

_4_

_You at the twin sunset yet?_

_No… that’s a great scene tho,_ Peter replied with a smile.

A few minutes later, Tony sent another text. _Early flight tomorrow, think I’m signing off for the night_

Peter frowned. _Ok... good night :(_ he sent back.

After plopping his phone down sadly again, trying to pay attention to his laptop screen, Peter’s phone began vibrating repeatedly. A phone call?

It was Tony. He picked up.

“Hey...” Peter said.

“No frowny faces, Pete,” Tony’s voice said through the phone. He sounded extra gruff and sexy to Peter, for some reason.

“No?” Peter replied, face instantly smiling. “I can’t be sad you’re going to sleep?”

“Mm, no,” Tony replied. “Not allowed.”

“Well, I can’t get a good night kiss this time…” Peter said, picking up on Tony’s playful tone and responding in turn. Noticing a new color scheme on the laptop, he added, “Hey, the binary sunset scene is playing.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony said. “You know, it would be fun to watch Star Wars together sometime.”

“Only if we cuddle,” Peter negotiated.

“Bargaining now, are we?” 

“That’s the price you’ll have to pay,” Peter said with a false air of finality.

“Well, let me check my bank account…” 

Peter heard some rustling on Tony’s line before his voice came back.

“Looks like I can afford it,” Tony said.

“But can you afford _me_?” Peter teased.

“Ooooh, oooh, no. No, no, no,” Tony replied. “We are not playing hard to get.”

“No?” Peter breathed.

“No. Let me make this clear. You’re mine,” Tony said. 

His firm, possessive tone made Peter squirm a little. Tony’s voice did funny things to his insides. Peter breathed heavily into the phone.

“You like the sound of that, Peter?” Tony pried after Peter’s pause.

Peter shut his laptop and pushed it off his stomach so he could reach down and adjust. Tony was making him hard with just the sound of his voice. 

“I—uh, yeah,” Peter replied, voice sounding a little different than before.

“There are a lot of things I want to do to you,” Tony said, voice low. “Cuddling is just one of them.”

A pause. Tony added, “Think about that tonight in your dreams, sweet thing.”

He hung up.

Peter pulled his phone from his ear in disbelief, then threw it on his bedside table before rushing to unzip his pants.

* * *

The next morning, Peter woke at the bright and early hour of 11 am.

Squinting around the room, he grabbed his phone to check the time and pulled the duvet up to cover his face, both to block out the light coming through the blinds and muffle the sounds of Ned playing Mario Kart in the living room. 

Tony hadn’t texted him again since last night. Peter absentmindedly wondered if Tony had jerked off after their phone call too, and the thought made his loins stir again. He texted Tony good morning and succumbed to his hormonal needs once again at the memory of the billionaire’s words. This time, Peter opened the selfie Tony sent earlier, and he came faster than he would ever like to admit. 

Feeling particularly grungy after the haze of horniness dissipated, Peter stripped and grabbed his towel from a hook behind his bedroom door to take a morning shower.

Peter dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a hoodie to cook himself a late breakfast, greeting Ned as he made his way to the fridge. 

“Dude, how was your conference?” Ned asked, eyes on the TV.

“It was pretty awesome,” Peter replied, pulling a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.

Peter turned a burner on and continued while putting a few slices of bread into the toaster, “I think Tony Stark and I are dating.” 

He put a pan on the warming burner.

“Hilarious,” Ned replied, flatly. “So you met him?”

Peter smirked to himself, cracking eggs into a bowl. “No, like… I’m serious,” he said, pouring a splash of milk into the bowl too and grabbing a fork to whisk it all together. “He kissed me.”

Ned dropped his controller and spun on the couch to look at Peter with wide eyes. “No. Way. _You’re. Kidding._ ”

“Not even a little bit,” Peter grinned. He poured the eggs into the pan and found a clean spatula in a drawer.

“Dude, _Tony Stark_ is your _dream boyfriend_ and you’re telling me you’re actually dating him?” 

Peter slid over to the toaster with his sock-covered feet. Grabbing the toast that had just popped, he bobbed his head while meekly smiling and shrugging, “Um… yup.”

“Oh my god,” Ned said. Standing, he threw his hands in the air. “This is amazing! We have to tell MJ!”

Peter couldn’t wipe the smile off his face while he buttered a slice of toast. He used a spatula to slowly stir the eggs in the pan as Ned paced back and forth, “What do you think the chances of this even are? Like, did you meet him by accident or did Bruce introduce you? Did you make the first move?!”

“Dude, like, I can’t even explain it,” Peter laughed. “It just kind of happened. I met him on Monday and we saw each other a lot during the conference… and on Friday he just… well, he picked me up and we went to the beach at night and he kissed me.”

Peter blushed, doing one last stir before dumping the eggs onto his plate.

“Does Quill know?” Ned asked.

“Yeah, I couldn’t keep that kind of thing from him if I tried,” Peter said, getting a clean fork to eat with.

Peter perched on a bar stool in the kitchen to tuck in to his food. 

“How are you not freaking out?” Ned asked, totally pumped for his best friend. “And… what the hell happened to your face?”

“Oh,” Peter said touching his nose, “I forgot that even happened. Kind of a long story?”

Ned shrugged, “Can we call MJ on speaker phone?” He already had his phone out.

“Sure,” Peter replied, checking his own phone for messages. Aunt May had texted him back, but nothing from Tony yet.

Ned sat across from Peter at their tiny peninsula, basically a dining room table substitute, and waited for MJ to pick up.

“Yello?” MJ’s voice said through Ned’s iPhone.

“Hey, MJ!” Ned said, “You’re on speaker. Peter just got back from San Diego.”

“Oh hey, Peter, what’s up?” MJ asked.

“Not much.” 

“That’s a lie,” Ned chimed in quickly, “he has really big news. Are you sitting down for this, MJ?”

“Uhh… no,” MJ replied. “I’m walking my new foster dog at the park. Why?”

Ned mouthed to Peter, “Tell her!”

A blush creeped up Peter’s neck as he stammered, “Well, MJ, I— I, uh, met someone… in San Diego.”

“Oh, okay, that’s cool,” MJ replied. “Is he nice?”

“He’s, uh—” Peter’s voice rose in pitch, “yeah— yeah, he’s super nice.”

Ned’s eyes were bugging out of his head. He mouthed more urgently, “ _Tell her!_ ”

“What’s his name?” MJ asked, making conversation points for Peter, knowing how difficult he found talking about his personal life.

“Well, his name— it’s— it’s— it’s Tony Stark.”

“You’re kidding,” MJ said flatly.

“That’s what I said!” Ned exclaimed.

“... he’s not kidding?” MJ asked, a hint of wonder creeping into her tone.

Ned interjected, “No, he’s being totally serious!”

“Yeah, we kind of hit it off during the conference,” Peter elaborated. “He— he recruited me to help with a new important project and he’s— you know— he’s really charming, and— he’s nice. And really smart.”

“Wow, I literally can’t believe this,” MJ replied. She quickly added, “I mean, I believe you, but holy shit.”

“Dude, do you think the universe is paying Peter back for how amazing he was in high school?” Ned speculated. “Like that time we all got stuck at the top of the Washington Monument and Peter rigged that pulley to literally save our lives?”

MJ laughed, “Yeah, maybe… hey— guys, I hate to cut this short but this dog is pooping and I’m gonna need to call you back.”

“Ok, later,” Ned said.

“Later, MJ!” Peter called from a few feet away, putting his dishes in the sink.

“Wow,” Ned exhaled, “Can we call Aunt May next??”

“I— I feel like that may be kinda soon,” Peter stammered. “Also, I really need to study for my finals. But when I decide to tell her I’ll let you know, man.”

Ned slumped with disappointment, “Okay, but seriously, this is the coolest thing that’s happened all year. You’re going to have to keep me up to speed with details, bro.”

“Pinky promise,” Peter said, sticking out his smallest finger.

“Word!” Ned said, hooking Peter’s pinky with his own.

“I’ll be in my room. Let me know if you want to order pizza tonight,” Peter said as he walked out of the living space.

“Okay,” Ned replied. “I’ll probably be playing Mario Kart for a little longer because my exams aren’t until the end of the week.”

“Sounds good,” Peter called, and closed his door behind him.

Collapsing into bed, Peter couldn’t help but feel that everything that was happening was exciting but... also a little terrifying at the same time. He hoped this intensity would fade a little, with time. If it didn’t, he was going to be a lot more stressed than he had anticipated during his last year of grad school.

* * *

Peter woke up to his phone vibrating in his butt pocket. Jerking awake, Peter realized he must have fallen asleep after the conversation with MJ and he quickly pulled the phone out to see who was calling. 

It was Tony.

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat as he swiped to answer, “H— hello?”

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said.

“Um… what— what time is it?” Peter asked, disoriented.

“According to my handy dandy watch,” Tony replied, “it’s two in the afternoon. Did I wake you up, sleeping beauty?”

“Oh, uh— yeah, actually—” Peter replied.

“Well I hope you didn’t stay awake too late watching Star Wars last night,” Tony teased.

“No, I… I— no, that’s not what I did,” Peter stammered, blushing. “I— I— I mean, I just fell asleep again after I got up to eat. Just now.”

“I see,” Tony drawled. “Well, my plane landed an hour ago and I was wondering if you wanted to study for your exam.”

A pause.

“But I understand if you’d rather sleep the day away.”

Peter rushed to reply, “No, I’d love to! I’d love to study. Let’s… I’m sorry, let me just grab—”

Peter rolled off the bed to sit at his desk, flipping open his thermodynamics notebook. “We can talk about— well, the most basic stats to cover would be equalizing energies. But— but we can start with calculating the entropies of dipoles if you’d rather start with something more challenging—”

“Relax,” Tony said, sensing Peter’s panic through the phone. “Relax, Peter.”

“Uh… okay.”

“I was just… confused,” Tony said. “You didn’t answer me when I texted.”

“Yeah, Tony, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take a nap,” Peter apologized.

“That’s okay, Pete,” Tony said. “Sleep alright?”

“Yeah, last night was um,” Peter relaxed, “last night was nice. So was the nap.”

“Did you dream about what I said?” Tony asked, voice as smooth as butter.

“I definitely thought about it,” Peter mumbled, blushing. 

“Good,” Tony said. “Listen, you need to stay focused on your classes, so… try to be proactive with your needs.”

Peter’s brain processed Tony’s words at the speed of a Commodore 64.

“Are you…” Peter started to ask, voice trailing off.

“Telling you to masturbate? Yes. Often.” 

“Oh, wow,” Peter breathed. His cock was already getting hard at even the thought of this conversation. He was going to need a bigger bottle of lube to keep up with this frequency.

“Tony, I…” Peter said, swallowing thickly, “I might have to— if we’re going to study together, I might have to, uh, do that. Now.”

Tony laughed, full of mirth. “To be your age again,” he marveled. “Pete, do what you have to do. Call me back.”

A beat. Peter stammered, “Y— you— you don’t… we don’t have to hang up… unless — is that weird?” he whined, cock straining uncomfortably against his jeans. 

“It’s not weird,” Tony assured, voice calming and assuring, saying just the right thing to tame Peter’s anxiety. “It’s just too soon. I want to go slow, Pete.”

“Oh,” Peter said breathlessly.

“I— I’ll call you back,” Peter promised. He hung up the phone.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Peter called Tony back from his recent calls list.

“Hey, sweet thing,” Tony greeted.

“Hi,” Peter said. “I think I’m ready to focus now. Um— thank you. That helped.”

“I had a feeling it might,” Tony replied. “So, you were saying? Equalizing energies?”

“Yeah!” Peter replied excitedly, “So we started the semester with that, and honestly I— I think it’s pretty much just a review, but it couldn't hurt to do a practice problem anyway.”

“I like your philosophy,” Tony replied. “Send me a practice problem.”

Peter snapped a photo of the word problem and sent it to Tony’s phone. “I sent it to you. I have a longer PDF though that might be better… can I forward that to your email?”

Peter opened his laptop. He exited out of the video player that was open from the day before.

“Sure, I’ll text you back my email address,” Tony said.

After the duo exchanged information, they got into the weeds of problem solving. Tony made Peter explain to him how entropy could be made more or less ordered when random probabilities were applied to a magnetic field’s orientation, and was impressed by Peter’s well thought out answers.

They went over adiabatic systems and solved problems related to thermal changes in gas expanding into new containers. Tony asked Peter to calculate the change in entropy of heating water while it’s contained by a constant volume, and then again using constant pressure but different volumes. Peter needed Tony’s help when they reached energy calculations for rotational states of DNA molecules, which pleased Tony very much.

“I thought you were a biochem major?” Tony teased.

“I— yeah, I am, but this is kind of hard,” Peter replied, frustrated.

“Think, Peter. If you know each base pair is 3.4 angstroms in length and the molecular weight is provided, all you need to do is plug in the values to the equation that solves for moment of inertia.”

“Oh— wait, I’m supposed to assume this is a rigid rod with central rotation?” Peter asked.

“Precisely,” Tony said.

“Well that’s— this— this problem is flawed, DNA strands aren’t rigid,” Peter insisted. “So that assumption is inherently false.”

“Okay, smartypants,” Tony laughed. “Since this problem set doesn’t jive with your genius brain, tell me what a better equation to use might be.”

“I— well, it’s possible to calculate the integral with calculus,” Peter said.

“It is, but I think you’re missing a fundamental understanding of this topic,” Tony explained. “A non-rigid item in free fall will rotate and twist until internal friction turns the item into a rigid body. So, you have to take the equation solving for rotational energy of a rigid system and incorporate the equation for angular momentum.”

Petter struggled to soak this in, “So… to calculate the energy of a non-rigid system, I just use angular momentum and moment of inertia?”

“Correct,” Tony replied. 

“Wow, okay,” Peter replied, rubbing his forehead.

“You’re doing really great,” Tony praised. 

“Thanks, Tony. It’s been really, uh, fun to talk through this stuff with you,” Peter replied. His butterflies were back. “I— I don’t even really feel like I’m studying.” 

Tony laughed, “Good. These equations feel like ancient history to me, but it’s been nice to step through it. Do you think our conversation has helped?”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter said. “In— in more ways than one.”

A pause.

“So— so do you want to do one more?” Peter asked, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. He was missing Tony, still, even though they were talking to each other right then on the phone.

“Hit me,” Tony goaded. “And make this one a challenge.”

* * *

On Monday morning, Peter woke cradling his phone next to his face on the pillow. He swiped off the alarm with a yawn and unlocked the screen to check his messages right away.

Tony had already sent him one, timestamped for 5:56 am. The man was an animal. 

_Good morning, boy genius_ , it read.

 _Happy Monday,_ Peter sent back, adding a gif of a sleepy stretching kitten for good measure.

While he was getting dressed, Peter’s phone buzzed with a reply.

_How cute. Though not as cute as you..._

Peter smiled and bit his lip. 

Coming up with an idea, he opened his camera app and took a selfie with his bed head, hair askew and bottom lip pouting for good measure. The tops of his shoulders were bare because he hadn’t put a shirt on yet. Peter apprehensively hovered his finger over the share button to Tony, and sent it at the last minute before he could change his mind.

Peter pulled on a shirt, then a hoodie, and grabbed his backpack to head to the library for the day. He had a lot of reviewing to do before tomorrow.

Buzz. Peter’s butterflies came back as he opened Tony’s message.

_Beautiful. I wish I could give those lips a kiss_

_I have bigger plans for your mouth on my body_ , Peter sent back with a winky, tongue-out emoji. Too much? He didn’t care.

_You little shit_

_Just you wait til I get there_

Peter grinned. Seemed he knew just how to toe the line.

Peter sent a kissy face emoji in response and packed up his bag before heading out the door. He decided to treat himself to coffee at the library cafe. It was a tradition he usually followed every finals week, a small decision with a mediocre price tag and super-sized impact on his emotional wellbeing.

Peter spent the entire day at his favorite spot in the grad student section of the top floor. Stretching in his seat and checking the time, he realized how quickly the day had gotten away from him and felt his stomach grumble in complaint. He hadn’t eaten anything other than a croissant with his morning Americano.

Feeling satisfied with the amount of material he’d covered, Peter started heading home. On the bus back to his apartment, he sent a text to Tony.

_Had a productive day at the library... How was work?_

He didn’t get a text back until he was hovering over the stove, poking at two bricks of ramen boiling in a big pot. 

_Budget meetings, need I say more? Are you done studying today?_

_Not sure_ , _making dinner,_ Peter typed back

_Please tell me you’re not eating ramen_

Peter glanced around the kitchen. How did Tony know that?

_Did you put cameras in my apartment or something?_

Tony immediately texted back three messages in quick succession.

_LOL_

_No_

_Educated guess?_

Peter frowned, feeling the need to stick up for his budget dinner.

_This non-billionaire is putting a fried egg and chopped scallion in it_

Peter watched his screen show that Tony had started typing. He stopped and restarted several times.

A message finally popped up. 

_I didn’t mean to offend_

Peter turned off the burner beneath the ramen pot and poured the load of noodles into a giant bowl. He slid a fried egg and scallions into the broth and squirted a little Sriracha on top for good measure. He didn’t feel the need to respond to Tony immediately, still a little self-conscious. The university paid him a decent salary for teaching, but his net income after subtracting taxes, Boston area rent, undergrad student loans, and all his other bills didn’t leave a lot of wiggle room. What did Tony expect? A diet of salmon scampi and prime rib?

Peter’s phone buzzed again where he had left it on the counter across the kitchen. He stubbornly blew on his noodles, taking several bites in a row before it buzzed a second time. He rolled his eyes, giving in and getting up to go see what else Tony had texted.

_Sorry, Peter_

_Just looking forward to taking you out to dinner. Better yet, cooking for you?_

Another message came in while Peter was reading the screen. _What’s your favorite meal?_

Peter sighed. He had always been embarrassed about money and didn’t want to let his baggage get in the way of this relationship.

 _Lasagna,_ he sent.

Peter finished eating his meal before another text came back from Tony. His full stomach was making him sleepy, so he went to his room to lay down. Ned wasn’t around to play Mario Kart with and he was feeling too drained to start a race by himself.

_A classic. Do you want to guess mine?_

Peter pulled up his hood and snuggled under the covers. That was a good question. What did Tony eat around Peter when they were in San Diego? 

_Enchiladas?_

_You’re on the right track… there’s cheese involved_

_Pizza?_ Peter guessed again.

_Warmer with the bread. No sauce_

Peter considered the next logical option. Really, could it be? He sent his guess. _Grilled cheese?_

_You got it_

_No way, Tony. Not unless it’s with like 100-year-old artisanal cheddar or something_. 

_I’m not as sophisticated as I look_ , Tony confessed.

 _Idk, you usually look pretty snazzy._ Peter sent a smiling blushing emoji too.

 _Can I call?_ Tony asked.

_Sure_

Peter’s phone started ringing. He answered right away, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tony said. “Tell me how the library was today.”

Peter bit his bottom lip, sitting up to rest his back against the wall instead of impersonating a burrito. “It was good. I, uh— honestly I think I’m pretty prepared for my exam. It’s scheduled for the morning tomorrow. I think I’m just going to relax for the rest of the night and try to get some good sleep.”

“Okay, good. I want you to myself for at least a little while tonight.”

“You—you do?”

“Of course, sweet thing,” Tony said. “So. Lasagna. Vegetarian or with meat sauce?”

Peter smiled a little. “Oh, that doesn’t really matter. I like pretty much every kind. Aunt May makes it with sausage, though.”

“Aunt May?”

“Yeah—she, well—my aunt raised me,” Peter said. He wasn’t sure how to explain this to Tony.

“My butler pretty much raised me,” Tony replied. 

Peter’s eyebrows skyrocketed in surprise. “He did?” 

“Yeah, well. Good ol’ Howard was always busy with the business.” 

“I had no idea,” Peter said.

“Well, that’s why I love grilled cheese.”

“Wait... what?” Peter asked, struggling to connect the dots.

Tony explained, “Our butler… he would make them for me. If the cooks were gone and I was hungry. Grilled cheese was one of the only _real_ home-cooked meals I ever had. I associate them with some of my fondest childhood memories.”

Peter was stunned, but took the information in stride. “Well, my… when my uncle—” Peter cleared his throat, “When my uncle died, Aunt May and I spent a lot of time together. She taught me how to cook, and grilled cheese was one of the first things I learned. I could probably make you a really good one.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony said. Peter could hear him smiling through the phone. “I’d love that.”

Peter smiled, soaking up the sound of Tony’s voice.

“Thanks for calling,” Peter said after a pregnant pause.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” Tony replied. 

After a beat, he continued, “You know Peter… I’ve been thinking about that picture you sent me all day. I really just can’t get your beautiful face out of my head.”

Peter’s heart beat faster as Tony kept talking.

“All day, through every meeting, I just couldn’t... quite... focus. And I think that had a lot to do with you. So when I got home earlier I decided to take my own advice. I was quite... how did I put it? Proactive?”

Peter’s face went numb. “P-pr-pr— proactive,” he repeated.

“Thank you for your lovely picture.”

“Oh my god,” Peter was getting way too hot. He threw his covers off and pushed his hood down.

“I’m sorry— has that distracted you, Peter?” 

“Oh my god,” Peter repeated again. He breathed heavily as his cock hardened. How did Tony manage to consistently do this to him? Was he some kind of evil sex magician?

“Can you tell me how you feel about that?”

“Tony, fuck,” Peter moaned. “I— I feel— I can’t—” he palmed himself through his jeans, but didn’t think he could stay on the phone much longer with his body in this state. 

“Tell me how that makes you feel, Peter,” Tony’s voice came through the phone firmly, commanding, masculine. In charge.

“Wow, I— I um. It— that turns me on, a lot. Like a lot. I like that. I’m really, really glad— Tony, I—” Peter struggled to form coherent sentences.

“I— I’m going to have to hang up,” Peter said breathlessly.

Tony’s voice made a low noise that made the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stand up. “Call me back, Peter,” Tony said. 

“Y—yes. I will.”

He hung up the phone.

* * *

The rest of the week flew by faster than Peter had anticipated it would. Days were filled with studying and evenings were reserved for phone calls with Tony. Phone calls in which Peter sometimes had to hang up.

His exam on Tuesday went well, Peter thought. Wednesday was jam-packed with studying. On Thursday, Peter proctored two final exams, spending hours patrolling a large classroom to make sure undergrads weren’t cheating. He treated himself to Chinese takeout on Thursday night and reviewed some material with Tony over the phone to prepare for Friday morning’s exam. They managed to talk about science for... at least two-thirds of the time.

After his exam on Friday, Peter left the testing room not feeling quite sure how he did. Sighing, he started walking across campus to the Banner lab. He figured this was a good time to do some pre-summer planning. He needed to set up a schedule for his summer research and hadn’t yet determined when good blocks of time were between teaching.

Taking the stairs down to the basement at a fast clip, he swung around the corner into the hallway to find it relatively quiet and empty. Most of the other grad students who worked in this corridor were probably already long gone for summer. The ones that didn’t get summer teaching assistantships would need other sources of income. With local jobs hard to come by, Peter knew a few students who took internships or fellowships doing summer research elsewhere.

Idly whistling as he approached the door to the lab, he heard Bruce’s voice calling his name from inside his office. Taking a few steps to the next door down, Peter poked his head in to see Bruce at his computer in his small office space, surrounded by papers, folders, files, binders, and books. He had stacks that didn’t fit on his bookshelves rising in precariously tall stacks from the floor. To an untrained observer, Bruce would look like a hoarder. Peter knew better. Bruce just happened to ride the line that proved a genius IQ was directly related to messy surroundings.

“What’s up?” Peter asked, waiting in Bruce’s doorway.

“Come in, come in,” Bruce said, standing to clear a stack of papers off of the spare chair. “Take a seat, Peter.”

Peter was slightly apprehensive as he perched on the chair. “How are your students doing with finals?” he asked, to make conversation.

“Oh— they’re fine. What I expected. I wanted to catch up and see how your exams went,” Bruce said, peering at Peter through his thick-rimmed glasses from the other side of the desk.

“They went really well, I think. I mean— not so sure about synthetic organic chem, but— well, pretty good. I’m done for the semester,” Peter replied.

“Good, good,” Bruce said. “I wanted to let you know that your first year here has gone very well. I was impressed with how you handled yourself at the conference.”

“Oh— thanks, Bruce,” Peter said, smiling timidly.

“I would like to have a copy of your summer research schedule soon,” Bruce added, “but I also wanted to let you know that I think it would be good if you took a week off before the summer semester starts. You should take a break. I know how draining it can be to teach accelerated classes, and with your research in its final stages already there is no point to push yourself.”

“A vacation?” Peter asked, surprised. “Oh, wow— well, okay— but I think Tony is coming to visit next Monday to see my silk.”

“Monday?” Bruce said, turning to his calendar to check the date, “The thirty-first? Oh, I suppose that’s right. Well, the rest of the week, then. Consider it time off.”

“Thanks!” Peter beamed. “I’m planning to work on my schedule this afternoon. I’ll email it to you once I have it figured out. Is Quill in the lab?” 

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Bruce confessed. He spun in his chair to raise the blinds covering a large glass window that looked into his lab space. Sure enough, Quill was sitting at the lab bench wearing a white lab coat. Even though he did most of his work on the computer, Quill insisted on wearing it for aesthetics. He bobbed his head along to music playing through his headphones while he typed into his laptop. If the window wasn’t soundproof, Peter was sure they would be able to faintly hear whatever he was listening to.

“Yup, looks like he’s in,” Bruce said.

“Okay, well, thanks again. I’ll see you on Monday,” Peter said, standing. 

“Enjoy your weekend,” Bruce wished as Peter left.

Swiping his student ID to open the lab door, Peter walked into the lab and waved at Quill who noticed him come in. Sliding the headphones down—sure enough, it sounded like the Looking Glass was playing quite loudly—Quill said, “Hey, man! How were finals?”

“Just glad to be done,” Peter smiled. “I’m working on my summer lab schedule and then heading out. Are you going to be here a full day?”

“Nope, just finishing a few things myself. Hey— do you want to go out and celebrate tonight?”

“Celebrate?” Peter asked, opening his laptop.

“Yeah, we should go out. You just finished your first year of grad school, dude.”

“Oh, I guess I did…” Peter said absentmindedly, already opening the email containing his teaching assignment.

“So that’s a yes,” Quill said, without a question this time.

“Okay, uh—” Peter said, looking up, “where do you want to go?” He felt like he already knew the answer.

“There’s a drag show at Lickety Split tonight,” Quill said. “I’ll pick you up at nine thirty.”

Peter smiled, shaking his head, “Okay, sure.” 

Between Quill and Tony constantly leading him to do things, Peter felt like he never had much of a say in his life. But who was he trying to fool? Peter loved every minute, regardless. Tonight would be no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another aside for the people who really know what they’re talking about (I’m a scientist, but not a physicist)... I added some in-depth discussion about calculations in this chapter and I want to apologize if they didn’t quite come out 100%. I tried, but definitely don’t use this fic for your physics homework. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Quill go out for fun, then Tony comes to Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a rollercoaster. **Please be warned** that it contains alcohol, a gay bar, drag show, and most importantly, sexual assault (non-consensual touching; see end notes for more details). I was really excited to take Peter to a gay bar until my brain decided it was a great opportunity to generate a source of conflict for the chapter. Oops. 
> 
> I guarantee you there will be a satisfying end and justice served by the end of this installment.
> 
> I would also like to add that this chapter contains police involvement. I wrote it before the murder of George Floyd. I know this is a fanfic platform and I’m guessing most of you would prefer to stay out of politics, but I can’t stay silent. I’ll make my point as succinctly as possible: Thinking critically, if the scenes I wrote actually happened in real life, they would VERY LIKELY pan out differently if the characters were Black Americans. The fact that it goes smoothly is just another example of white privilege. So in retrospect, I kind of wish the story went another direction, but I won’t change it. Instead, I encourage you to be aware and stay informed. Take a stand to make a difference. 
> 
> Black Lives Matter.

They were running later than Quill had planned, mainly because Peter came downstairs in baggy jeans and polo. Quill refused to leave with Peter dressed that way, so they went back up to his apartment together for an entire wardrobe change. It mainly involved Peter sitting obediently on his bed while Quill rifled through his closet and dresser for something more “appropriate.” Peter quickly learned that what Quill meant was that Peter just needed to wear something more skimpy and tight.

“Put these on,” Quill said, throwing Peter a pair of shorts.

“Quill, I haven’t worn these since eighth grade,” Peter protested.

“Perfect. They’ll hug you in all the right places,” Quill replied.

While Quill continued searching for the perfect top, Peter changed into the light gray shorts and pulled at the legs after buttoning them up. They came up a little higher than mid-thigh, and Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“Do you seriously not own any t-shirts without a Star Wars reference?!” Quill grunted.

Quill himself looked great, Peter thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be taking some style advice. He was wearing black jeans, his usual brown boots, and a dark floral-patterned shirt. He had the short sleeves cuffed and only did the buttons halfway up his chest.

“Here,” Quill said, triumphantly. He was holding a fitted navy v-neck. “Simple, but effective. This will look great with your high-tops.”

Nodding, Peter changed shirts and laced up his Converse sneakers. “Okay, better?” he asked, turning for Quill.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you even have to ask,” Quill sighed. “Have you taken a shot yet?”

“What?”

“A sh— Jesus Christ, Peter, get yourself together. Pour yourself a shot of whiskey and let’s go.”

Peter did as he was told, grimacing as the liquor burned the back of his throat. He coughed as Quill double-checked, “Do you have your ID?”

Peter nodded, but realized his whole wallet wasn’t going to fit into his tiny shorts anymore. He pulled out his license and credit card to slide them into his pocket on their lonesome before heading out the door.

Downtown Boston was swarming with people. As they passed restaurants and bars, Quill’s music blasting through the Milano’s open windows, Peter watched young couples drinking wine together on restaurant patios, spotted frat bros walking in large groups down crowded sidewalks, and noticed the shitty walk-up pizza joints were packed with college students carbing up before a night out. 

Quill parallel parked the Milano a few blocks away from the bar. A line was forming out the door, so the pair took their spots at the end of the line. Bouncing on his toes, Quill said, “I’ve been looking forward to this. We really need to get out of the lab more.”

“Yeah, I know. San Diego was a dream,” Peter said.

“Speaking of which, how’s your new man?” Quill asked, taking a step forward in line.

“He’s good,” Peter blushed. “I told him we were going out tonight, he seemed excited for us.”

“Oh, I should definitely take your picture for him,” Quill said. “Gimme your phone.”

Peter handed Quill his smart phone and smiled a little. The flash went off and Peter heard Quill say, in his momentary blindness, “Oh, yes. You’re welcome, Mister Stark.”

Peter took his phone back from Quill and realized the older scientist had already sent the picture to Tony. “Quill!” he protested. Zooming in on the picture to see what he looked like, Peter reluctantly came to the conclusion it was actually a very good photo. He would have sent it anyway.

“ID,” a deep voice said. A large bouncer was holding a hand out to Quill. Quill passed him his driver’s license and handed the second bouncer $20 to pay for his and Peter’s cover charge. Peter followed Quill’s lead, and after getting his own ID approved, they were both festooned with neon pink wristbands.

The dark bar was packed with men, young and old alike. There were a few queer women scattered around too, but Lickety Split largely catered to the gay male community. Peter was overwhelmed by the sound of pop music blasting in the tight space and followed closely behind Quill as he wedged up to the bar. Quill’s large body shielded Peter as they waited for the bartender to spot them. 

As Peter looked around, he noticed the stage at the back already had flashing multi-colored spotlights circling the catwalk. A queen wearing an orange sequin dress and a yellow boa was speaking with a sensual voice into the microphone. Her gigantic wig added an extra foot to her height.

“What can I get you boys?” 

Peter turned back to the bar to see an older gay man with several earrings asking for their order from behind the bar. He had directed his question to Quill.

“Two vodka sodas,” Quill said efficiently.

The bartender nodded, moving away to mix their drinks. Not a moment after they ordered, a man Quill’s height bumped into the two of them from behind. Annoyed, Quill turned, ready to tell the guy to fuck off.

“My apologies,” the man said, tucking his shoulder-length black hair behind an ear. “I think I just tripped over someone’s foot. It’s quite crowded in here, isn’t it?”

His British accent piqued Quill’s interest right away. “Sure is,” Quill smiled. “No worries.”

The bartender returned with their drinks, and Peter handed him his card to keep a tab open.

“Do you want to order a drink? Here, we can switch places,” Quill offered. Gently squeezing around other patrons, Quill and Peter opened a place for the stranger to wait at the bar.

“Thank you,” the man smiled, looking from Peter back to Quill. The pair didn’t immediately make a move to step away, so he added, “My name is Loki, and you are?”

“I’m Quill, and this is Peter.”

“A pleasure,” Loki said. “This is my first time in the States, I must say it’s been fascinating.”

“Where are you visiting?” Quill asked, leaning forward to hear over the start of a pop song. The first drag queen was dancing and the crowd was cheering by the stage.

“Harvard,” Loki said. “Giving a guest lecture.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Quill grinned charismatically. “We’re studying at MIT.”

Loki turned to order a drink from the bartender, but returned quickly to his conversation with Quill. Peter, feeling a little like a third wheel and sensing some chemistry starting between the other two, was brought back into the conversation as Quill put a hand on his shoulder.

“Peter’s doing some revolutionary stuff with biochemistry. I work with space tech.”

Loki’s eyes grew in surprise, a smile creeping up on his lips, “Phenomenal. I do theoretical physics at Oxford.”

“So you came here to blow off a little steam?” Quill asked, a twinkle in his eye. 

Peter knew that look. “I’m going to head over to the stage,” he told them, deciding he’d leave the two to flirt. 

“Here,” Quill said, before Peter started to edge away, “Take some ones. Tip the queens extra for me.”

Peter took the wad of cash with a nod and weaved through the crowd with his vodka soda tucked in front of him. He made it about halfway to the back of the bar to get a better view of the drag show, speakers near deafening now. The drag queen on stage did a split as the beat dropped, drawing cheers from all the boys surrounding the stage. Those within range tossed their ones around her as she pulled a few more impressively seductive dance moves.

Peter spotted a scantily-clad tip jar carrier moving through the crowd. He was wearing just a banana hammock and body glitter, holding a large pitcher filled with cash. As the boy walked by, Peter threw a few dollars into the pot. 

When the song ended, the drag queen tucked her tips into her cleavage and sashayed away. The DJ boomed into the microphone, announcing the next dancer, and Peter’s excitement grew as he recognized the beat to one of his favorite pop songs.

“I _love_ this song,” the boy next to Peter said.

Turning to see someone his age standing to his right, Peter smiled and said, “Me too!” 

The next drag queen waltzed from backstage onto the catwalk, encouraging the audience to sing along. Peter sang loudly, hitting every note while dancing to the beat. He didn’t notice the boy next to him glancing over during the entire performance. Peter made a point to squeeze close enough to the stage this time to hand the queen a tip himself.

The song ended and Peter was already finished with his drink. He whooped and cheered, realizing he was, in fact, having a fantastic time. Quill really was full of great ideas.

The boy next to him leaned in again, this time saying, “My name is Harry. Can I buy you another drink?”

Surprised, Peter stammered, “I— I have a— I’m... seeing someone, actually.” 

Harry shrugged, “That’s okay. Let me buy you one anyway.”

Peter bit his bottom lip, weighing his options. 

Harry pressed, “Come on, you can come with me and everything. I’m not going to drug you,” he laughed.

Something about the situation seemed off. Harry pressing the issue just made Peter want to say no even more. “Sorry, I’m not interested,” Peter replied firmly. “But thank you.”

Deciding it was time for him to find Quill, Peter excused himself and started walking back toward the bar where the crowd of people would be less suffocating. Peter tossed his empty plastic cup into a trash can and found Quill and Loki at basically the same place he had left them.

Sidling up to the two tall, glamorous men, Peter felt more than a little self-conscious. He smiled hesitantly and caught Quill’s eye as he approached.

“Hey,” he said, loudly over the next uptempo song.

“Hey, ready for another vodka soda?” Quill asked.

“Yeah,” Peter smiled. It looked like the two men were already on their second drink. Quill waved at the bartender and leaned across to get Peter’s drink order in. Peter’s small frame made it difficult to order at places like this, especially since they were usually full of men taller than him. 

“Thanks,” Peter muttered to Quill. 

“I was just telling Quill how much I enjoy cold beer in America,” Loki told Peter, including him in their conversation.

“Oh, right— don’t you guys drink it warm in the UK?” Peter asked.

“Not warm, per se, but certainly not ice cold,” Loki smiled.

“How are the drag queens?” Quill asked, “We watched for a little while but it’s tough to see from here.”

“Oh, they’re great!” Peter gushed. “Thanks for the ones, I can’t believe I forgot. Did you put your drinks on my tab?”

Quill nodded.

“Okay, good! I definitely owe you.” Peter knew that although Quill definitely made more money than him as a PhD candidate, he didn’t want to be a mooch. Seeing a vodka soda set on the bar, Peter squeezed by a butch to get his drink. 

“Are you heading back that way? I think we might come with you,” Loki said to Peter.

“Um, yeah— I think I’m going to try a new view by the DJ this time,” Peter said, hoping to avoid Harry. 

Not waiting for the older men to catch up, Peter re-embarked into the crowd to find a new spot to watch the show. The queen dancing now was rocking six inch heels. Peter stared as she flipped her hair over her shoulder, then bent over to shake her booty.

Peter looked behind him to see if Quill had followed, and saw him dancing with Loki a few feet away. A pang of disappointment hit Peter’s stomach, all of a sudden missing Tony and wishing he were there. It was only a few more days until the lab tour, Peter told himself. He would see Tony again soon.

Turning back, a second drag queen came onto the stage after the previous one left. The song transitioned seamlessly into a sassy rap, and Peter watched the drag queen’s corset in wonder as the bouncing steps jostled her ensemble. Was it weird to be attracted to corsets and fake boobs? Exactly where was the line of gay blurred when men wearing padded bras started to turn you on, Peter wondered?

He took a sip of his drink, swaying to the song and smiling at a particular line he loved in the lyrics. Rainbow spotlights illuminated the stage at the end of the performance. The queen in orange sequins returned, this time without her boa. She must be the host, Peter thought.

“Her makeup is really on point, isn’t it?” a voice said.

Peter turned, seeing Harry had once again found him in the crowd. “Oh. Yeah, looks great to me,” Peter replied neutrally.

“Hey, I really don’t want to bother you too much, but could I at least get your name?” Harry asked.

“Um…” Peter said, not suring how to decline without seeming like a jackass. “It’s Peter.”

“Peter. Hi, Peter. You’re gorgeous, you know that?” Harry said.

“I— you know, I’m really not int—”

Peter was cut off by the track to the next song blaring loudly from the speakers. As the song started and one of the best dancers came back out on stage, Harry pressed into Peter’s side to slip a dollar into the passing tip jar. Paranoid, Peter took a small step back. He bumped into the wall and realized he had no more room to escape.

Harry followed Peter, turning his attention to him fully now. He pressed close to Peter’s body, and Peter looked everywhere but at Harry’s face, trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. 

A hand suddenly grabbed Peter’s junk through his shorts, and before Peter could react, Harry pressed his mouth to Peter’s, pushing his tongue forcefully past Peter’s lips. Peter ripped his mouth to the side and tried pushing Harry off of him, but he was strong and didn’t budge. He at least took his hands away from Peter’s crotch to hold his wrists as Peter pushed.

Just as Peter was preparing to headbutt Harry in order to get out of being cornered, a strong hand grabbed Harry by the back of the neck and pulled him backward.

Harry cried, “Who do you think you are!?”

Without hesitating, Quill slammed his fist into Harry’s miserable face. Harry fell backward onto the floor, crowd parting for his falling body. 

“Some people call me Starlord,” Quill replied, watching Harry fall.

As Harry writhed on the ground, Quill turned to Peter and asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

Peter shook his head. _No._

Harry rose to his feet and braced himself to take a swing back at Quill. Before he could throw the punch, Loki stepped behind Harry to grab him in a sleeper hold. As soon as Loki had a hold of Harry, two bouncers appeared and immediately told Loki to let him go.

The tall Brit did as he was told, and Harry again fell unceremoniously to the sticky floor. He panted, trying to catch his breath, but didn’t have a chance before his arm was grabbed by a bouncer. All four of them were escorted outside by the pair of large security guards. Harry was the only one to resist and complain as they were guided past the bar.

“My father will hear about this!” he screamed.

Before management had the chance to call police, Harry had already stalked off down the sidewalk away from Lickety Split.

One of the bouncers addressed the three remaining men in a booming Boston accent, “Look, I don’t know what happened here, but youse guys are all banned. We have a no violence policy and I saw you clearly violate it.”

Quill shook his head in disbelief, “That asshole assaulted my friend, and I did your fucking job for you. I can’t believe this.”

The bouncer shrugged, “Rules are rules. You got a tab to close?”

Peter nodded. He still hadn’t said a word since Harry had groped him.

“I’ll take you back in to close out, but after that we can’t see you here again.”

“Okay,” Peter murmured. He followed the security guard back into the bar and blinked back tears as he signed his name on the receipt. What a fucking mess.

When Peter returned to the sidewalk, Quill was there with a reassuring smile. Loki had left.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter apologized. 

“Don’t be,” Quill said. “That wasn’t your fault. Dude was a creep.”

“I just—” Peter’s face crinkled as he fought back tears.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Quill said soothingly. He hesitated before placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and asked, “Do you want a hug?”

Peter nodded quickly, and Quill’s arms wrapped around him in a reassuring embrace. “It’s okay, Peter,” Quill said over and over as Peter cried into his shirt.

After letting tears leak out of him for what felt like centuries, Peter swallowed and pulled back from Quill, rubbing the wetness off of his face and taking a shaky breath to regain his composure. He wanted to be anywhere other than this sidewalk.

“Are you ready to go?” Peter asked, attempting a smile.

“Sure, let’s roll,” Quill said. 

The walk to the Milano was somber. Peter suddenly felt irritated by every loud drunk he heard on the smoking patios outside of the bars, wanting to yell at them all to just shut up and stop making fools of themselves. He was mad at himself for thinking he could have fun tonight, mad that he had ruined Quill’s time with Loki, and most of all pissed for not being stronger and able to push Harry off on his own. Why did some hero always have to be swooping in to save him? Why couldn’t he save himself?

Peter got into the passenger side of Quill’s car with his jaw set, arms crossed, staring out the window. If his eyes were laser beams, they’d be burning a hole right through the windshield.

“Hopefully I didn’t fuck up your thing with Loki,” Peter said bitterly, after they were already halfway through the car ride.

“Aw, no, man,” Quill said, “I got his number before he left. He just didn’t want to get in the way.”

After a short period of silence, Peter said, “I just wish I could have punched that fucking asshole myself.”

Tears started burning behind his eyes again, but Peter did his best to hold them in. Quill hadn’t replied, so Peter continued, “Thanks, by the way. For saving me. Again.”

Quill remained silent, sensing it would be best if he just let Peter let out his feelings.

“I just feel so stupid, and weak, and I got us banned from our favorite bar. And to top it all off I feel fucking disgusting from that jerk touching me. I’m just so… I’m so _angry_.”

“It’s okay to be angry,” Quill replied. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t deserve what happened tonight. But if it makes you feel better, I know you wish you could have handled it on your own, but sometimes it’s good to have people around that can look out for you. Everyone needs that sometimes, even me. And I feel honored to be that friend for you.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, and wasn’t sure he could talk anyway since the tears were streaming down his cheeks again.

“This just really sucks,” Peter choked out.

“I know.”

* * *

Quill had walked Peter up to his apartment door, just to make sure he made it there safely. As much as it annoyed Peter, he was also deeply, truly, grateful for it.

The first thing Peter did was take a scalding hot shower that felt like it could actually burn his skin. He wasn’t satisfied until he scrubbed every inch of his body. When he finally emerged from the steam, he felt like he might actually feel a little more clean. The smell of the bar was gone and his skin felt safe wrapped in a soft bath towel. Peter brushed his teeth, twice. And then he rinsed with mouthwash.

Crawling into bed, wearing his favorite t-shirt and second-favorite pair of boxers, Peter was feeling almost back to normal. He unlocked his phone and stared at the screen that illuminated his face in the darkness of his bedroom.

Tony had replied to the picture message Quill sent a few minutes after they had gone into the bar. This was the first time Peter had looked at his phone all night, and the compliment Tony had written warmed his heart only a fraction of what it would have if he’d read it before the altercation at the drag show.

 _Looking gorgeous as usual_ , it said.

Peter tried to think of what to text Tony. He didn’t know where to start, and he wasn’t sure if he was even awake. It was almost one in the morning.

 _I’m home_ , Peter sent. Something simple. Easy. Safe.

Peter didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

_Have a good time?_

Peter stared at the question, biting his bottom lip. Maybe he shouldn’t even tell Tony what happened. What would he think? Peter hoped he would be protective and concerned, like when Peter had gotten into trouble in San Diego. But what if Tony was disgusted? 

There was no way he could lie. Peter didn’t want to, anyway. Regardless of how Tony took it, he couldn’t keep this in.

 _It was only good for the first half,_ Peter texted.

_Why?_

It took Peter a few minutes to type a message back.

_Some guy groped me. We got kicked out._

Tony started calling him almost immediately. Peter sat up and swiped to answer. 

As soon as he put the phone to his ear, Peter heard Tony ask, “Are you okay?”

Peter didn’t know how to answer that question, but tried anyway. “Physically, um, yes,” he said.

“I wish I could fucking be there right now,” Tony replied. Peter heard rustling on Tony’s end of the line.”

“Me too,” Peter replied with a small voice.

“Peter, Jesus Christ, I feel like I can never stop worrying about you,” Tony went on. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I— I, uh,” Peter felt tears welling up again. He took a shaky breath, “This guy kept hitting on me, and I kept turning him down. But, uh—” a pause, “well, he pushed me into a wall. He grabbed, you know, like— my crotch. And then he kissed me.”

“And then? Was Quill there?”

“Yeah— yeah, he, well— he punched the guy in the face. That’s when we got kicked out,” Peter explained.

Tony let out a breath, “I’m so, so, _so_ sorry Peter.”

“It’s, I mean— it’s okay…”

“No, it’s not,” Tony replied, “And fuck, I shouldn’t even be telling you I’m sorry. What a shitty thing to say. You don’t need to reassure me.”

A beat.

“All I meant is this just fucking sucks and I wish I was there with you.”

Peter bit his bottom lip, “Yeah, I wish you were here too.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Tony offered. “I’d love nothing more than to hunt this piece of shit down and kill him.”

“No,” Peter replied. “I mean, talking to you is great. The whole experience was… upsetting. I’m just dealing with how I feel about it, I guess.”

Tony replied. “I just hope you know you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know,” Peter said. “It was just really gross. I don’t want anyone touching me except you. It made me feel really… guilty. Like—” Peter let out a breath. “like, dirty. Because it wasn’t you and he was so creepy.”

“Peter, the next time I see you I’ll hug you so long and tight,” Tony promised. “I want to wipe all of that away. I’ll hold you so close.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Peter admitted. “Look— I— is it okay if we change the subject?”

“Sure, we can talk about anything,” Tony said.

“Can you tell me about your day?”

“Absolutely.”

Tony spent the next half hour telling Peter every detail of his day, down to the mundane minutia. About waking up at 8:15 to a call from his assistant Happy about the company stock dropping 150 points in the pre-markets, to how the kitchen staff had all come down with the flu and nobody had bought groceries so Tony didn’t have any eggs to scramble for breakfast. 

Tony told him how he usually works out in the mornings, but was running late to his first meeting of the day to discuss expanding production into Canada, and he had to switch weightlifting to the evening instead. He went on about his robot Dum-E that wouldn’t stop bothering him tonight while he worked on some personal projects in the lab, and Tony reminisced about his old lab in the house he used to own in Malibu.

After getting a small laugh out of Peter when he mentioned his favorite breakfast was from Randy’s Donuts in LA, and he used to make a special trip there almost every weekend to pick up a box, he continued talking about life on the west coast. About how he spent his twenties partying there and couldn’t figure out for the life of him how he’d managed to settle down in New York.

Tony finished by adding that his flight was booked for Sunday evening into Boston, and although he wanted to move it up he had to attend a luncheon on Sunday with investors that couldn’t be rescheduled.

“Feeling any better, Peter?” Tony asked, unsure after he had been talking for such a long time.

“Yeah,” Peter said. Tony heard a smile in Peter’s voice. It warmed his heart.

“Getting tired?”

“Yeah,” Peter repeated, trying to stifle a yawn. He would be asleep in minutes.

“I guess I can say goodnight, then,” Tony said.

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter replied. “Really really. Goodnight.”

* * *

Peter spent the entire day Saturday cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. He wasn’t sure if Tony would be visiting where he lived, but figured the place could use some tidying and scrubbing whether or not that happened anyway. Besides, the process was a prime distraction to keep his mind busy.

Ned was going to be away until the following weekend. He was visiting his parents in New York City to relax after the stress of finals. Peter used the opportunity to blast his favorite music through his bluetooth speaker and dance just like Robin Williams did in that one old movie—what was it called? Mrs. Doubtfire?

By the end of the night he felt considerably better. Whether from the false sense of control he achieved through cleaning and organizing or the fact he used a bunch of energy on something tangible that he could be proud of, Peter wasn’t sure. Probably a little bit of both.

It was in the evening while Peter was sitting on the couch watching reruns of _The Bachelor_ that he realized he should probably call his Aunt May. They hadn’t talked for more than a month, since school had gotten really busy in the last stretch of the semester.

Dialing down the volume, Peter grabbed his phone and wiggled his toes that were propped up on the coffee table while the line rang. 

May finally answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, Aunt May,” Peter said with a smile.

“Oh, Peter! It’s so good to hear from you! How’s school? How was your trip? You need to catch me up, it’s been so long… you know, you really should maybe call me more—”

Talking to his guardian always made Peter feel at home, no matter where he was. Aunt May had been the supportive voice of reason leading up to the Decathlon in high school, always gave him great advice when he moved away from home for Cornell, and even now it made him feel better just to hear her voice.

He caught her up on the ins and outs of the semester, letting her know he’d get his final grades posted sometime next week. He told May about the palm trees in San Diego, their fun trip to the Cabrillo historic lighthouse, and how his presentation was received very well.

“I also met Tony Stark,” Peter tried to say casually.

“Tony Stark? As in, owner of Stark Industries?” 

“That’s the one,” Peter replied optimistically.

“Well, that’s new. Did you guys find anything interesting to talk about?”

“Well— uh, yeah…” Peter replied. 

Aunt May picked up on his nervousness immediately. “And? What’s his deal?”

“Well, first of all, I’ve been recruited to help him with a new project because he really likes my research. And he said he’d help me get it patented, and stuff,” Peter said.

“That’s great! Anything else?” May pried.

“Well, we’re—I think we’re kind of dating now?” Peter said, voice rising an octave.

“Oh, that’s wonderful honey! I mean, I’m glad you found someone—is he nice?” she asked.

“He’s fantastic,” Peter sagged in relief at Aunt May’s attitude. “He’s been very supportive and everything. Great to talk to.”

“Oh, Peter,” May replied, “I’m happy to hear that. You don’t feel weird about him being older and… well, he’s super rich, isn’t he?”

“He… yeah. Yeah, he is,” Peter didn’t even try to pretend Tony wasn’t.

“But you have a good feeling about him?”

“I really do, Aunt May,” Peter said.

“That’s all I care about. It’s important to trust your instincts. As long as he treats you right and makes you happy, I’m happy too.”

“Thanks, Aunt May, that means a lot,” Peter smiled.

“Let me know when the next time you’re coming to visit is,” she said. “I’d love to see you. Maybe even meet Tony too.”

“Okay, I will. I’ll talk to you soon,” Peter replied.

“Love you too. Bye!”

The stupid smile on Peter’s face didn’t wear off for the rest of the night.

* * *

  
  


Taking a long run on Sunday morning had Peter feeling a lot more like himself. He took a scenic route, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine of early summer. His sneakers pounded the pavement as he moved easily down the city sidewalks, taking in the sights and sounds. 

Around the fifth mile, he took a familiar turn down the street he lived on, bringing his run to an end. He passed a lady walking a golden retriever puppy and smiled as he passed, easily stepping around them both. 

Peter reached the apartment building within the next hundred feet. He paused before walking up the steps, snapping a quick pic of his slightly-sweaty self. He sent it to Tony with a message, _Can’t wait to see you later_.

The endorphins and expectation of Tony coming later that day boosted Peter’s mood significantly. He made sure to _be proactive_ during his shower, hoping that spending some attention on himself early in the day might help with his libido later. He didn’t want a boner to ruin a special moment, especially since he hadn’t seen Tony in over a week already.

Peter got a few texts back after his shower.

_I can’t wait to see you either, sweet thing_

_Be there around 6_

_Pick you up 6:30? What’s your address?_

Peter grinned ear-to-ear. He only had to wait seven more hours until Tony arrived, and he was relieved to have already cleaned his apartment top to bottom since it seemed Tony would be coming to his building after all.

Peter sent his address back to Tony with as many grinning emojis as he considered borderline appropriate. Setting his phone down, he looked around his apartment. Reality set in, and he finally realized he had _seven whole hours_ until Tony arrived. Everything was spotless, so how was he supposed to keep himself busy until then?

* * *

Nothing if not resourceful, Peter managed to fill the rest of his Sunday afternoon with as many productive activities as he could think of. He walked to the corner grocery to stock up on his normal weekly items: cereal, milk, pasta, cheese, onions, beans, bread, and coffee. After putting the groceries away in his cabinets, he did a double-take at the pantry and decided to re-organize it. Once the cans were stacked and pasta boxes were arranged, he realized he could also re-organize the pots and pans. 

Running out of organizational tasks in the kitchen, Peter grabbed his laundry sack and made his way to the apartment basement to start a load in the coin-operated machines. He washed his sheets, comforter, and all of his dirty clothes. Remembering he also needed to get his hand-me-down suit cleaned, he walked to the dry-cleaners in-between a wash and dry cycle and dropped the sandy clothes off with the no-nonsense cashier.

As time ticked down to 5 o’clock, Peter figured he should probably eat something since all of the running around had made him really hungry. Was Tony expecting to have dinner with him? If he was flying before six, Peter doubted Tony would have time to eat. Debating back and forth in his head about baking a frozen pizza, Peter decided instead to make himself fried rice because that meant he’d have to spend time both cooking _and_ washing dishes.

At 6:15, Peter sat anxiously on the couch, tapping his foot as he stared out the seventh floor window. After washing and folding all of his clothes, making the bed, putting away the dishes he used to cook with, and absolutely running out of any more ideas by that point, he had nothing else to do but wait.

He was wearing his nicest pair of jeans and one of his less-ratty t-shirts, a red one, and had his shoes on already so he’d be prepared to meet Tony downstairs as soon as he arrived. Peter scrolled through his Instagram feed as he waited, mindlessly clicking on interesting videos and trying not to look at the clock too often. 

By 6:31, he was absolutely miserable and ruffled his own hair in frustration. 

Then Tony called.

Peter almost dropped his phone in his haste to answer. “Tony!” he exclaimed.

“Hey, Peter,” Tony greeted. “I’m outside.”

“I’ll be there in a minute!” Peter replied. He hung up, walking so quickly toward the door he almost tripped. He grabbed a jacket on his way, and cursed while retracing his steps back down the hall when he realized he forgot to lock the deadbolt.

Finally descending in the elevator, he glared at the digital display as the decrepit piece of machinery took him at a snail’s pace to the ground floor.

Peter bounded through the elevator doors as soon as they opened, making quick steps to the exit. He saw Tony waiting by a black car and beamed at him as he trotted down the apartment stairs. “Hi!” he called.

“Hey,” Tony smiled back, opening his arms to welcome Peter in a big hug. “So good to see you,” he murmured in Peter’s hair, giving Peter a kiss on the cheek.

“You too,” Peter replied, speaking directly into Tony’s shoulder.

They held onto each other for a minute before Tony loosened his grip and gave Peter a short, sweet kiss. Butterflies blossomed in Peter’s chest at the feel of Tony’s scratchy beard on his smooth chin.

As they stepped apart, Peter blushed and involuntarily checked Tony out. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but a blazer made Tony’s appearance a little classier than Peter’s since he had only picked out a canvas jacket. Peter was still glad to have worn something in the same realm as Tony, anyway.

Tony was quick to supply them with a plan, still holding Peter by the elbow. “I’m starving, so I thought we could go out for something to eat,” he said. “Are you in the mood for Italian?”

Peter grinned and replied, “Of— of course! I’d love to. Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Hop in,” Tony said with a wink, stepping back to open the passenger side door for Peter.

Peter did as he was instructed and waited for Tony to get in through the other side. The coupe they were taking today wasn’t as ostentatious as the Bugatti, but it was still a luxury vehicle.

“What kind of car is this?” Peter asked, looking around after Tony buckled his seat belt.

“Just a Cadillac I’m renting for the next few days,” Tony replied. 

Peter smiled to himself as Tony started the engine.

“How — um, was your flight?” 

“Oh, the usual,” Tony shrugged. “Kind of a relief after lunch today, let me tell you. I know I have to play nice with this moneybags guy Darren Cross, but he never fails to rub me the wrong way.”

Peter bit his lip in an attempt not to make a sex joke.

Tony saw his expression as he pulled out of the parking spot and reacted with a belly laugh. With a smile in his eyes, he said, “If you’re going to say you can _rub me the right way_ , go ahead, but I’ll have to punish you with some Christina Aguilera.”

Peter scoffed with a smile, “You call that punishment? Nineties pop is hardly a deterrent.”

“And here I was naively thinking you might actually have taste in music,” Tony tisked. 

“Hey, Christina and Britney were the voice of a generation—” Peter started to argue.

“Correct, the generation that occured _after_ the greatest generation of all time. We produced the best musicians of the century. Need I mention AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin?”

Peter grinned mischievously, “I’m sorry, who?”

“Oh, no no no. See, I had the brand new _Heaven and Hell_ eight-track in my crib the year I was born. You could say I’m their biggest fan. Thank god my dad had good music taste, for lack of any other redeeming qualities.”

“Wait,” Peter scrunched up his nose, “Didn’t that come out in like, 1980?”

“That’s exactly the year,” Tony replied.

“So… wait, when’s your birthday?” Peter asked.

“May 29th,” Tony sighed.

Peter hesitated while he tried to remember what day it was. “It was your birthday yesterday!?” he finally exclaimed. “What the hell! Tony, you should have said something. I— I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t even— Tony, why didn’t you tell me!?” his voice changed from distressed to annoyed in the space of seconds.

Tony shrugged. “Being here with you is the only birthday present I need,” he said smoothly.

Peter’s face transformed into a deep frown. “I— I really would have liked to do something for you, anyway,” he insisted.

A few silent moments passed as they drove through downtown Cambridge. Finally, Tony said, “Truth be told, Peter, I don’t like getting older. And I was kind of worried our age difference would weird you out.”

Peter looked at Tony, expression conveying utter surprise. 

“No way,” Peter said, incredulous. “You’re a silver fox, Tony.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow and looked over to Peter as they reached a stop light. “Is that so?”

“Even if you weren’t, I’ve totally got a thing for older guys,” Peter rolled his eyes, reassuring Tony with a big smile.

“Well in that case, I might just make you call me Daddy,” Tony laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at Peter.

Peter blushed. He didn’t expect that comment to make his cock twitch, but it did. It was almost shameful how horny he got around Tony. 

“Do you like cake?” Peter asked, trying to change the subject.

“Sure, who doesn’t?” Tony replied.

“Just wondering,” Peter said. He thought maybe he could surprise Tony with a birthday cake before he went back to New York, at the very least. 

“Ahuh,” Tony replied, cutting his eyes over at Peter, “I’m onto you, Pete.” 

“I have to do something!” Peter objected. “You can’t stop me.”

“You’re right, I can't,” Tony agreed, smiling. “It’s a free country. And what better place to be a rebellious young man than the great state of Massachusetts? Are you gonna throw me a Boston Tea Party?” Tony joked.

“Not at this rate,” Peter grumbled.

Tony laughed, “I’ll cooperate, you have my word.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes. Tony was entirely too difficult.

Tony stuck his elbow out to nudge Peter, “Okay, start looking for parking. We’re almost there.”

“What’s the place called?” Peter asked.

“Ada’s Squid,” Tony replied.

Peter paled, remembering the gourmet octopus arm that was served in the restaurant the first time he went to dinner with Tony.

“And this place is Italian?” Peter asked.

“They serve lots of things, not just seafood. You’ll love it,” Tony replied thoughtfully.

Peter nodded, spotting a parking space coming up. “Looks like there’s a spot,” he said.

“On it,” Tony replied, stopping on the road just after he passed the gap and backing in expertly to parallel park. 

“Such a great co-pilot,” Tony murmured, turning off the car.

Peter blushed, unbuckling his seatbelt. He reached a hand over to touch Tony’s as he reached to unbuckle his too. Tony’s hand stilled, and he looked up into Peter’s eyes as Peter slowly moved closer. Tony met Peter halfway for a kiss, unclicking the buckle in the process and reaching up with a hand to cup Peter’s face as he leaned in further.

Tony wasn’t shy about using his tongue, and the wetness felt divine to Peter as their mouths parted together. Tony’s moved his mouth again, sucking Peter’s lower lip between his teeth to graze it in a gentle bite. Peter groaned at the sensation, and Tony slowly moved away.

“Time to eat,” Tony said. 

Peter’s face was flush, but they had broken the short kiss in time for him to will himself to calmness before stepping out into the cool evening air. Tony winked at him as they glanced at each other above the roof of the car. Taking a deep breath and feeling the butterflies tickle his rib cage, Peter followed behind Tony as they walked down the block toward the restaurant. 

Moving his gaze away from Tony’s perfect derriere, Peter took in the sight of the restaurant’s spacious outdoor patio, partly shaded by a tall wooden trellis wrapped in vines. A few dozen people were dining in the wonderful weather. As Peter looked among the faces of patrons sitting on the patio, his stomach lurched. He did a double take. 

Peter’s good mood left him in an instant when he recognized one particular face. Paling, he stopped walking behind Tony, which didn’t take the older man very long to notice. 

Turning with a quizzical expression, Tony said, “Peter?”

“I—” Peter quickly averted his eyes and walked to where Tony had stopped a few paces away. He hoped they still weren’t close enough to draw any attention. “Let’s go,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to eat here.”

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, a small frown tugging down at his lips. He didn’t budge.

“Nothing!” Peter replied, unconvincingly.

Tony looked toward the patio, glancing between patrons. “Did you recognize someone?” he asked.

“Nope,” Peter insisted, face conveying a sense of desperation.

“You need to tell me what’s wrong,” Tony said, reaching out to hold Peter’s hand. His voice was stern, but his expression was soft.

Peter hesitated, glancing back nervously. He whispered, “That guy. Over there. He— he— that’s— that’s the guy who…”

Peter trailed off, but Tony knew right away what he was trying to say. “The guy from Friday night,” Tony replied, an edge to his tone.

“Which one?” Tony demanded.

“He— Tony, no—”

“I’ll hazard a guess it’s the one with a black eye,” Tony said, expression hardening as he zeroed in on Harry. He was sitting at a small table across from a beautiful young woman.

“You stay here,” Tony said to Peter. Looking him in the eyes, he added, “Don’t move. Don’t come over to me. I have a plan, I’ll be fine, and I’ll be right back.”

“Tony—”

Peter’s voice did not have the power to stop a genius billionaire with vengeance on his mind. His feet felt glued to the spot as their hands slipped apart, and all Peter could do was wait and watch as the scene unfolded twenty paces away, as Tony had told him to.

Tony approached the table where Harry was dining, hands in his pockets and a dangerous smile pasted on his face. From Peter’s position, he couldn’t hear their conversation. He watched as Harry and the girl looked up, annoyed, at Tony. Tony said something that transformed Harry’s face into a scowl, and Tony offered a handshake in response. 

Harry batted Tony’s hand away and spat on the concrete before looking back up at Tony. Harry’s face grew red as a tomato. Tony smiled at him, said something back, and Harry stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair over. 

Tony kept talking, taking a few steps back as Harry advanced. Tony finally took his other hand out of his pocket to hold his hands up in what looked like surrender before stopping his retreat in front of the entrance to the restaurant. 

When he stopped, Tony leaned in and whispered something in Harry’s ear. It was the final straw. Harry screamed as he swung a fist at Tony’s face, which Tony dodged adroitly. He stepped back, moving out of the way of Harry’s punches as patrons pulled out their phones to record the surprising skirmish. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the girl Harry had been sitting with hastily grab her purse and run away. Tony was handling himself gracefully as Harry recklessly swung at him. After avoiding three punches, all the while laughing in Harry’s face, Harry finally tackled Tony and brought the two of them down to the pavement. 

The two men grappled with each other, rolling on the ground while Harry cursed obscenities at Tony, trying to get a hold on him. Tony popped up, taking two quick steps back from Harry who was still winded on the ground. Harry slowly got to his feet, then jumped on Tony again, using his full body weight in a bear hug to bring Tony down.

Peter watched in horror as Harry maneuvered to sit on Tony’s chest. Harry pulled his arm back to start a swing at Tony’s face. He had finally got Tony in a position where he could no longer avoid taking a hit.

That was the moment Peter found his feet.

Taking leaping strides across the sidewalk, Peter ran to Tony’s aid and tackled Harry before he could connect his fist with Tony’s jaw. As soon as he knocked Harry off, Peter stood, breathing heavy and prepared for Harry to try another move. Harry groaned on the sidewalk, then blinked up at Peter. He recognized him immediately.

“Oh, hey there, twink,” Harry said with a smirk. He grabbed Peter’s ankle but screamed in pain when Tony, who had stood, used this as an opportunity to stand on Harry’s arm.

And that was when the cops showed up.

The flashing lights lit up the building as a cop car double-parked. Two officers jumped out, both of them stalking to the skirmish. 

“I told you not to get involved, Peter,” Tony muttered.

“I couldn’t just let him hit you,” Peter objected.

“Everybody, break it up. You and you,” the cop said, pointing to Tony and Peter, “over here with me.”

The cop’s partner went to Harry and helped him stand up so they could have a discussion elsewhere. The first thing both officers did were pat the three men down. 

“Jones,” the officer by Harry said, “we got a 94C. Wrap them up.” Peter watched, shocked, as Harry was handcuffed and led by the officer to the back of the police car.

“We’re going to take your statement and let you go,” the officer in front of Peter and Tony said. “It looks like we’ll have footage of this incident anyway, so the statement is really just a formality.” 

Tony spoke for the most part, providing all of the details the officer needed. He was very professional about all of it, and courteous, which the cop seemed to appreciate. 

The cop glanced at Peter when Tony was done speaking, then switched to asking him questions. “And your involvement was just at the end of the altercation, correct?” the officer asked Peter.

“Uh, yeah— I— I just stepped in to stop him from punching Tony,” Peter said.

“Okay,” the cop said, closing his notebook. “That about wraps it up. Mr. Stark, you’ll be contacted about pressing charges for the assault and battery at a later date. Thank you both for your cooperation, you’re free to go.”

“Thank you, officer,” Tony said. 

Tony wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders as the two officers got back into the cruiser and drove away.

“Peter, I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry,” Tony said hesitantly, looking in Peter’s eyes.

Peter, who was still absolutely flabbergasted that Harry had been arrested, looked back in awe at Tony. “I really don’t know why you’d apologize. That— that was… amazing.”

Tony’s face broke into a smile.

“I’m — uh, do you want to go somewhere else to eat?” Peter asked.

Tony looked over at the patrons that were slowly thinning out from the patio, most of whom had paid and left shortly after the dust-up. The few that remained were openly staring at them.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Tony agreed. He put a hand on the small of Peter’s back and walked him toward the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The assault involves Peter getting groped by Harry (over the clothes) and kissed against his will. There’s all of the related emotional turmoil included after that event.
> 
> This level of detail may be way too in-depth, but FWIW I made Tony 10 years younger than canon. In this fic he’s born on May 29, 1980. Since this story is set in the year 2021, Peter is 23 (present-day Tom Holland age) and Tony is 41 (straight out of Iron Man 2). Quill is roughly 30.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony get a little more intimate. (:

A few blocks away on a quiet street, Tony spotted a barbeque restaurant and immediately pulled over, muttering something about how he _needed_ brisket. The restaurant wasn’t busy, having just turned their usual dinner crowd, so ordering at the register inside was fast and easy. Tony paid with a credit card—he insisted—and in exchange they were given a plastic number on a tall metal rod to take with them. 

They sat outside at a flimsy metal table with metal chairs on the sidewalk beneath a large American flag that swayed gently in the evening’s warm air. From his seat, Peter had the benefit of not only watching Tony’s gorgeous face from his spot across from him, but also got to see Tony’s reflection in the large glass windows spanning the face of the eatery. 

Peter smiled shyly, stealing glances at Tony while he fidgeted with the napkin dispenser. They were still waiting for their order to be brought out and hadn’t started talking about the incident at the Italian place yet. Tony sipped thoughtfully on his beer and watched Peter like he was the only person on the planet. 

Peter sat back and ruffled his hair, still amazed and trying to soak everything in. He let out a short laugh and asked, “Do— do you make a habit of pulling out a hero complex for everyone you date?” 

Tony smiled and said, “So far, just you.” He took another long sip of beer.

Peter smiled brightly. “Well, um… th-thanks, I — I guess. So — you thought of that whole plan in, like, what? Sixty seconds?” 

“More or less,” Tony replied. “The end goal was to get him arrested, but I wasn’t actually sure if it’d work.” 

Tony’s skin reflected the red glow from the neon sign hanging above them. The sun was setting, and the illumination from electric lights was becoming more prominent.

“Wait— did you _want him_ to punch you?”

“No,” Tony admitted. “Well, yes, for the plan. I thought he had to, for battery charges. But it wasn’t easy to just stand still and let some punk hit me in the face.” 

“You— you— wait, you were going to get punched by that asshole just for me?” Peter blinked.

“I was going to make sure he got caught one way or another,” Tony said, expression changing. “That’s why I made him follow me into the view of the security cameras.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open. “Oh,” he said.

“But it doesn’t seem like I’m the only one with a hero complex,” Tony smirked. 

Peter’s face went red, and he stammered, “I— I— I know you said not to, but— I just get so— so tired of everyone else handling my shit for me.”

“I adore your tenacity, I assure you,” Tony said, reaching out to still the napkin dispenser that Peter kept tipping precariously. “I should actually thank you,” Tony continued. “I’d rather not have a bruised face, anyway. Especially since he was carrying drugs.” 

“Is _that_ why he was arrested?” Peter asked, eyebrows shooting skyward. He let go of the dispenser after Tony stilled it.

“It was a bonus,” Tony replied, his face crinkling into a genuine smile.

“You really do amaze me,” Peter mumbled, eyes wandering to his own untouched beer. He couldn’t seem to shake the butterflies in his stomach and was having a hard time finding an appetite, even though he was, in actuality, very hungry.

Tony’s hand found Peter’s on the tabletop, turning them over together as he rubbed his thumb on Peter’s palm. Tony smiled gently.

Peter blushed as he made eye contact with Tony and let his hand be caressed. Tony drew his hand away just as the restaurant doors opened and a server brought them their food in black plastic baskets.

“Brisket for you,” the girl said, placing Tony’s order in front of him before turning to Peter, “and here’s your pulled pork. Anything else I can get you two? Sir, would you like another beer?”

“No, thank you,” Tony replied, finally dragging his eyes off Peter to give the server a smile. 

“Okay, enjoy!” she said, and stepped away.

“S-so,” Peter said, trying to change the subject before he melted through the ground, “Darren Cross. What’s his deal?”

Tony looked surprised that Peter had been listening when he talked about his luncheon earlier. It already seemed like that had been eons ago. 

“He’s a big shot at Pym Tech,” Tony said.

Peter chewed a bite of his pork as he tried to remember what that company did. “Isn’t Pym Tech like… a less cool, lower quality version of Stark Industries?” he asked.

Tony chuckled before answering, “I knew I liked you for a reason. Yeah, they want their hands in the SI pot and I have to pretend they can be involved in order for Cross to dole out any money.”

“What do you need the money for?” Peter asked. He had to wait while Tony finished chewing his brisket for a response.

“The prototype projects we have are costly. It’s not practical to fund them long-term without a forecast for profit, so we usually outsource funding on stuff that isn’t super cutting edge.”

Peter nodded, trying the cole slaw. It was pretty good—had they added extra celery seed?

“Do they fund your internships too?” Peter asked.

Tony shook his head, “We keep those in-house.”

“Oh,” Peter replied. “I— sorry if you don’t want to talk about work,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Tony smiled. “I’m happy you’re interested.”

Peter smiled and ducked his head to push a slab of cornbread around with his fork. The sun had set and he was hoping he wasn’t staring at Tony too much. He just looked so... _handsome_. The red lighting outlined the features of Tony’s face, tracing his nose and following the curve of a cheekbone.

“I was actually going to bring up that I’d like you to visit New York soon,” Tony said.

Peter looked up from his food basket and regarded the older man’s casual expression. 

Tony continued, “Your work is exceptional, truly. I’d like to have you come to the lab so we can come up with a plan for manufacturing. We’ll need to get a good amount of product made over the next few months for the space station.”

“Wow, thank you, Tony. Are you— I mean— are we going to— to Stark Tower?” Peter asked.

“Actually, no,” Tony corrected. “You’re more than welcome to visit the tower at some point, don't get me wrong— but, no. I want you to come to our new facility. Upstate.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Well— yeah, I mean— I’d love to come. I’m free this week, actually, like… after tomorrow, I mean. Since you’re coming with me to MIT.”

“How convenient,” Tony smiled. “Well, we can take the jet together Monday night and you can stay a few days at the Avengers Facility. Until you need to be back for teaching.” 

Peter’s jaw dropped, “I— oh my god, Tony, that would be so cool— I’d _love_ that.”

“So it’s a plan,” Tony said, eyes glittering as he set a crumpled napkin on his tray. He’d only eaten half of his meal. 

Peter hadn’t fared much better, too enamored with Tony to feel the need to eat. 

“Yeah, sounds perf— sounds good to me. Classes don’t start again until next Monday.”

“Hmm,” Tony replied, setting his elbows on the table, and chin on his interlaced hands. “A whole week.”

Peter’s body grew hot at Tony’s intense expression. 

“Do you have to get back to your apartment anytime soon?” Tony asked abruptly.

“I— no,” Peter said.

“Ready to get out of here, then?” Tony asked. His expression was unreadable to Peter, but something about it was really turning him on.

“Yup,” Peter replied, voice increasing in pitch.

“Good, there’s somewhere I want to take you,” Tony said, standing. The metal chair made an obnoxious noise as it scraped across the concrete.

Peter stood, lifting his chair slightly so it wouldn’t make the same noise, and took Tony’s hand as they walked back to the car. 

“Where— where are we going?” Peter asked.

“You’ll see,” Tony replied. 

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, Tony and Peter were getting out of the car in the parking lot for a tiny park with a view of a bridge spanning the Mystic River. Since it was night, the bridge was speckled with red and green lights for navigating ships. Tony took Peter’s hand and led him across the short grass of the park.

As their shoes rustled across the blades of grass, Tony pulled Peter close to his side and wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist.

“This is really nice,” Peter commented, “I didn’t know this park even existed.”

“We’re north of MIT,” Tony replied. “I don’t think you’d ever have a reason to wander this way.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, grad school isn’t— it’s not really like undergrad. At Cornell, I explored most of Ithaca…” he said, “but here, I’m lucky if I have time to check out buildings on campus that I don’t teach or take classes in.”

Tony guided Peter toward a concrete ledge, a perfect height to sit on beside the pebbly dirt lining the river's shore.

“I always wondered if I’d regret not going away to grad school,” Tony mused, taking a seat. He held his arm open with enough room for Peter to sidle up next to him.

Peter sat, nestling into Tony’s side. He let his head rest on Tony’s shoulder, “You didn’t?” Peter asked.

“No,” Tony said. Peter could hear Tony’s voice differently with his ear pressed against his body. The sound was comforting and exciting at the same time.

“I graduated when I was seventeen from MIT. BS in engineering. This town is actually where I met Rhodey,” Tony reminisced. “After that… I don’t know, I just stayed. Got two Master’s over the next two years before leaving academia.”

“Huh. I guess I always just assumed you had a PhD,” Peter said.

“Nope.” 

“What stopped you from doing more?” Peter asked.

“My parents died. I inherited the company,” Tony said, rubbing Peter’s shoulder.

“Oh.” 

“At the time I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life,” Tony explained. “Taking over Stark Industries just seemed like the right choice.”

“Do— do you think it was? The— the right choice, I mean?” Peter stammered. He felt… warm, that Tony was opening up to him. Honored.

“At the time, yes,” Tony answered, looking down at Peter. “I wouldn’t change my decision. But over time I realized I wanted other things. That’s why Pepper is the CEO now.”

“I think I can see why you did what you did,” Peter replied, picking his head up off of Tony’s shoulder. “I— I mean, I never knew my parents, but if Aunt May passed away, God forbid,” Peter wasn’t religious but felt compelled to add the sentiment anyway, “I mean, I would want to take over her business for her. It’s— it’s a legacy thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, smiling down at Peter, “it is.”

“I’m not a huge fan of managing things, though,” Peter added, wrinkling his nose. “I would have to pass the business off to my friend like you. MJ has a real head for being in charge.”

“MJ, huh?” Tony asked, cocking his head. 

“Yeah, she’s a— a friend from high school. Same as my other best friend, Ned,” Peter replied. “I’m actually roommates with Ned now that we’re both in Boston.”

“And how’s that going?” Tony asked, amused. “When I lived with Rhodey we almost killed each other.” 

“Uh, well— um, it’s fine. We do pretty well together,” Peter replied, answering as though he thought he was telling Tony the wrong answer.

“Maybe you’re a little less of a hellion than I was,” Tony laughed. 

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

“Hey, check it out,” Tony said, patting Peter’s arm. He pointed with his free hand out at the river.

Peter followed his gaze to a gigantic cargo ship floating down the river, straight toward the bridge. With wide eyes, he exclaimed, “Is it going to fit?!”

“That’s what she said,” Tony mumbled. Clearing his throat and speaking up louder, Tony added, “Yeah, but it’ll be close. Watch.”

Peter and Tony sat in silence as the freighter passed beneath the metal bridge. Cars continued to pass overhead while the ship crossed to the other side as quiet as a ghost. 

Peter whistled, “Wow.”

“Engineering, right?” Tony commented.

“For real,” Peter mumbled. Remembering Tony had brushed off his last comment, he asked again to clarify, “What do you mean, you were a hellion?”

Tony smirked, “I think your generation calls it womanizing?”

“What?!” Peter asked loudly, brows furrowing.

Tony took a deep breath and sighed, “Rhodey hated me. All I did was bring different girls back every night and keep him awake ‘til 4 am. But hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”

“W— women?” Peter stammered, face transforming from confused to horrified.

“Oh,” Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “You— uh, I guess— this is awkward.”

“I—” Peter’s face burned, and he scooted several inches away from Tony’s side. “I must have had the complete wrong idea, I’m so— wow, I’m so sor—”

Tony followed him as he scooted, grabbing Peter’s chin so he’d turn and look him in the eyes.

“I play for both teams, Pete,” he said.

“Oh,” Peter let out a long breath of air.

“Does that... bother you? I thought, since I’m a public figure and whatever—” Tony looked genuinely concerned, “You really didn’t know I’ve dated women before?” Tony asked.

“No,” he said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t know. Not that it— I mean, it doesn’t— it doesn’t really bother me.”

“It doesn’t?” Tony asked, letting Peter’s chin go.

Peter sat for a beat, thinking. “I think…” Peter started, “Well— I— I think I just…”

Tony put a hand on Peter’s leg, waiting for him to finish.

“I don’t really— um, I don’t— I don’t like hearing you’ve been with other people,” Peter finally said, casting his eyes down at the rocks by his feet. 

“Oh,” Tony said, starting to understand the direction of the conversation. “Well that’s totally understandable.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, face scrunched in disbelief as he looked back up.

“How many people have you been with, Peter?” Tony asked, not unkindly. Genuinely curious.

“Not… a lot,” Peter replied. “I— yeah.”

“Give me the name of just one person,” Tony said.

“Why?” Peter asked, wary.

“Just a name. First name is fine,” Tony pressed.

“Okay— uh, well— Alan, then,” he said.

“Alan,” Tony repeated, pursing his lips.

Peter watched Tony’s expression change from expectant and curious to something else. The smile left his eyes.

“What?” Peter asked.

“See, I didn’t like that,” Tony said.

“You—” Peter’s eyes widened.

“It makes me jealous,” Tony added.

Tony bent in and took Peter’s lips in a kiss. He kissed him hard, this time, grabbing Peter’s hair in his fist and claiming his mouth with his tongue. Tony didn’t let up until Peter was breathless and his lips were swollen from the barrage. They stared at each other, faces close, until Tony used his mouth to kiss Peter’s cheek, his jaw, his ear, and his neck.

Finally pulling away, Tony asked, “Are you ready to go?”

“Wh-what?” Peter asked, dazed.

“It’s late, I think it’s time I take you home.”

* * *

Tony did, in fact, take Peter home.

 _Unfortunately_ , Peter thought, that was literally all he did.

Peter lay in bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Tony had given him one more amazing goodnight kiss in the car before walking him up to the apartment building doors. He stopped there, leaving Peter to go inside and take the elevator up alone.

Peter was starting to get really frustrated, and he channeled all of this frustration with the use of a dwindling bottle of lube.

Never mind it was after midnight and they had an amazing night out together. Their first meal one-on-one, more conversation that made Peter feel closer to him than ever, Tony acting like a hero… none of it was enough. All Peter wanted was for Tony and him to be _naked_. The dates were great, but this burning desire in the pit of his stomach was not going to be satisfied by only moonlit walks, car rides, and romantic dinners.

Peter went to bed angry. It was an easier emotion to handle than his other crazy feelings, things like jealousy, desire, and hope. He set his alarm to wake him early enough to make it to campus to meet Tony the next day and had fitful dreams of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man the whole night through.

* * *

When Peter arrived at the lab, Tony was already in Bruce’s office. He could hear their laughter floating down the hallway before he even reached the office door. 

Popping his head in like he always did, Peter took in the scene of Bruce and Tony joking around with wide eyes. It was such an interesting concept that Tony already knew Bruce so well. To make his presence known, Peter hesitantly said, “Hi, Tony. Bruce.” 

Tony turned in his chair to look up at Peter’s face with a dazzling grin. “Good morning, Peter,” he said.

“Hey, Peter,” Bruce said almost simultaneously. “Have you had coffee yet? I just offered to walk with Tony over to the cafe.”

“I could definitely go for some,” Peter replied, smiling. 

“Wonderful,” Tony replied with a low voice, face turned from Bruce’s view. He looked Peter up and down with an expression like he wanted to eat him up, making Peter blush.

Peter broke eye contact nervously, glancing around the disorganized office to calm his nerves in front of Tony. “Great, uh, is Quill here? I can go ask if he wants to come.”

“Yeah, he’s in the lab,” Bruce replied. “He’s welcome to join.”

Peter spun so fast he almost tripped and stalked into the lab room. Setting his backpack on the lab bench, he waved at Quill who moved his headphones down to give Peter a warm smile.

“Hey, Pete!” he said. “How have you been?”

Peter nodded, “I— uh, Tony—” his voice squeaked, so he cleared his throat as he glanced at the blinds shielding Bruce’s office from view, “Tony’s here. We’re getting coffee. Wanna— wanna come?”

“Oh, god,” Quill groaned, “You look like you’re about to fall over. Yeah, I’ll come.”

Quill shucked his lab coat and set his headphones on the desk. Skipping the leather jacket because it was pleasantly warm out, he smoothed the front of his designer t-shirt and slipped his phone in his jeans pocket before following Peter through the lab door.

“What gives, dude?” Quill asked.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Tony took his eyes from Bruce in the hallway and reached out to shake Quill’s hand. “Great to see you, Quill. Glad you could make it. I owe you one, the least I can do is buy you coffee.”

Quill nodded, expression solemn with understanding of what Tony was referring to.

Bruce, seemingly always out of the loop these days, asked, “Butter Bean or Rocket Fuel? Oh, who am I kidding— with you two, we’ll definitely have to go to Rocket Fuel.”

Bruce led the way as they walked toward the opposite wing Peter had used to enter the building. They ascended the stairs to the ground floor while Tony made small talk with Quill, causing his booming laugh to echo throughout the stairwell.

“You’re a funny guy, Stark,” Quill chuckled. “Did you hear that? He made the nerdiest joke I’ve ever heard and it was _still_ hilarious.”

Bruce held the door open for the other three to exit the stairwell, and Quill took the next turn to hold the doors to the outside world as they left the building. Green leaves rustled in the breeze as the four men mozied down the sidewalk. 

Tony had Bruce captured in a conversation, the two of them leading the way. Peter and Quill trailed behind.

“Catch me up to speed, man,” Quill mumbled, elbowing Peter.

“Quill, you— oh my god, everything is _amazing_ ,” Peter replied, whispering. “He took me out to dinner last night and wound up getting that douchebag from Lickety Split _arrested!_ ”

“Are you fucking joking!?” Quill exclaimed loudly. Peter gestured wildly for him to keep his voice down.

“Shh!” Peter whispered. “I— like, I don’t even know— Tony goaded him into a fight. The cops came and— and— he was carrying drugs, so they handcuffed him and everything. They took him away in a cop car.”

“Dude,” Quill replied, eyebrows raised, glancing forward to Tony. “That’s pretty badass, I have to admit.”

“ _I know_ ,” Peter whispered excitedly, with a grin. “I’m so into him. That was just the icing on the cake. We spent the rest of the night together. Tony took me to a park…” 

Peter trailed off because the two were catching up to Tony and Bruce, who had stopped at a crosswalk and were waiting for the walk light. They heard the trailing end of Bruce explaining something.

“—they’re still in the testing phases, and it’s really hard to say if they would perform the same in space. That’s basically going to require a whole different phase of trials, and with teaching I feel like it’s hard to find the time—”

The traffic light turned red, so Tony looked both ways before stepping out into the street with Bruce. The four were halfway across when the pedestrian walk light came on, a delay that Tony must have known the timer for by heart, having spent so much time at MIT so many years ago.

Peter and Quill walked at a slower pace once they reached the sidewalk on the other side so Peter could resume his conversation. “He, um, dropped me off after midnight— and like, okay, I need your advice.”

“Advice about what? You’ve got Tony in the bag, Peter. It’s obvious,” Quill replied.

“We haven’t done anything but kiss,” Peter whined.

“Hm,” Quill pulled his mouth up in a thinking face. “I can see how that might be a problem. Well…” Quill stepped aside so a bicyclist could go around them, making an annoyed expression. “There’s literally a bike lane two feet away!” he shouted.

Peter glanced up at Tony to make sure they were still out of earshot as Quill continued, “You only met two weeks ago. It’s not like you’re moving at a glacial pace. What’s the harm in going slow?”

“I… I— Quill, you know the harm,” Peter replied, face reddening. “I feel like my hand is going to fall off.”

Quill laughed heartily at that, but had to cut his next words short because they had reached the cafe already. “You’ll survive,” he said, amusement coloring every feature.

“My good sirs,” Tony acknowledged, gesturing grandly while holding the door to the cafe open.

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter mumbled, stepping inside.

The cafe was one of Peter’s favorite places. He loved every single one surrounding the MIT campus, and Rocket Fuel was special for more than a few reasons. It had a modern vibe, boasting firebrick red metal stools and smooth wooden tables. The ceiling was black, bringing the attention to the wooden counters and pendant lights that were suspended to hang at the perfect height above the tables, warm bulbs covered by opaque red glass. If Peter had to use a word to describe it, the place was spunky. And the espresso and coffee they served was nothing short of magical. 

Peter stopped short of the counter to look at the chalkboard menu behind the register, trying to decide if he wanted his usual Americano or felt like branching out today. A latte might be a nice change, especially since he had hardly eaten the night before and was feeling pretty hungry this morning.

“My treat,” Tony said, breezing past Peter and Quill to step up to the counter.

“How can I help you today?” the barista asked.

“Hi,” Tony smiled. How was he always so dazzling?

“I’ll have a cappuccino, please, and will be paying for everything my friends order,” Tony replied, looking back at the three.

Bruce took his cue and said from behind Tony, “Just a coffee for me. Dark roast.”

The barista nodded, writing orders with a sharpie on paper cups as she passed them to her coworker behind the counter. After tapping a few buttons on the touch screen in front of her, she looked up at Peter and Quill. They advanced to the counter together since Tony and Bruce had already wandered to the pickup area.

Peter stammered, “Uh, hi, I’ll take a latte, please. The largest size.” He stepped aside for Quill, walking toward Tony while overhearing Quill ask for a latte too.

“Sleep okay last night?” Tony asked. 

Peter glanced at Bruce, who was a few steps away reading the cafe’s bulletin board. “Yeah,” Peter replied, smiling timidly.

The loud noises of the espresso machine creating their beverages drowned out the opportunity for any more conversation. After a few minutes, they all had red cups with white lids in hand as they retraced their steps to the lab. This time Tony paired with Peter and they straggled behind Quill and Bruce. The breeze ruffled Peter’s hair as they walked.

“I’ve been thinking about your synthesis,” Tony said. “I think we can probably have the silk manufactured upstate at the Avengers Facility and have it shipped to the construction site to reduce as much third-party involvement as possible.”

“Oh?” Peter said, “Yeah, sure. That makes sense.”

“I’ve told Happy to handle clearing the south wing for your work,” Tony added. “We haven’t been using it for much, you know—product testing isn’t that important, anyway.”

“Wow,” Peter exhaled. “The entire wing?”

“Does that sound agreeable?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, should— I— you mentioned... filing a patent, though?” Peter asked.

“Right,” Tony nodded, “We can work on that this week. It’ll take time for it to be processed, too, so better to start early. I wasn’t going to bother with having a contract written up for you to use the lab space, but… well, that’s up to you?”

It took Peter a second to realize Tony had asked him a question. “A contract? What would we need that for?”

“Standard protocol,” Tony waved his hand in dismissal.

“Then... maybe?” Peter said, tentatively.

Tony looked sideways at Peter, then smiled. “That’s my boy,” he said. “You passed the test.”

“What test?” 

“Never give your research to someone else without paperwork,” Tony said. He stopped with Peter, leaving space between them and the other two men who were waiting at the crosswalk. Quill glanced over his shoulder at Peter, but let them have their conversation without interrupting.

“Even me,” Tony added.

Peter furrowed his brow as a memory wiggled its way into his consciousness. At the banquet, Natasha had said the government was cutting the space station budget… and that Tony might be able to sell some technology to them to compensate for restricted funding. Was Tony thinking about selling Peter’s work to them? 

He wouldn’t do that… would he?

With a frown, he followed Quill and Bruce across the road and didn’t clip his pace to walk in step with Tony. This topic would require more thought, but for now, he had to focus on giving Tony a good demonstration. That was what he came here for, after all.

* * *

Two hours in to walking Tony through the ins and outs of the chemical process, Peter had forgotten all about the morning, the previous night, and almost everything from the last two weeks as well. In the lab, it was all about chemistry. For Peter, that meant nothing else mattered but the process and the final product.

Tony managed to pull off wearing a lab coat, goggles, and gloves better than anyone Peter had ever seen. Peter was pretty sure Tony could wear a trash bag and still look like a sex god.

“So it’s basically a cell-free protein synthesis,” Peter said, “but I’m sure you remember that from my talk.”

Tony nodded, watching the centrifuge as it spun test tubes full of liquid.

“It’s important that the lab space be completely clean. No contaminants,” Peter said. “I probably should have mentioned that when we were talking about having this process set up at the Avengers Facility.”

Tony smiled, looking up at Peter, “Already have it covered. We filter the air and require full body PPE in the south wing. It’s a clean room atmosphere.”

“Fancy,” Peter replied, smiling back.

Gesturing at the centrifuge, Peter said, “The extraction is the easiest part. What we’ve done so far is pretty standard biochemistry. The modification of the proteins is a little more challenging.”

“I recall you mentioning that,” Tony replied. “What can you do to improve reliability?”

“The past few months I’ve figured out the ideal pH,” Peter said, “which seems to play a big role. I’ve been using lithium hydroxide because it’s more economical, but I think strontium hydroxide is actually more ideal.”

“Pete,” Tony said, “You need something, you ask for it. Price is not an object here.”

Peter nodded, smiling shyly as he looked down. “O-okay. Well— um, once this is done being centrifuged, we have to keep it refrigerated for three days before we can continue the synthesis. I— I’m sorry I don’t have any on hand to continue the process while we’re here.”

“That’s fine,” Tony replied, taking a seat in a chair. Quill’s music was faintly audible over the sound of the centrifuge, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “You can take it with you on the jet and show me the last half in New York.”

“Sounds great,” Peter smiled.

“We can leave whenever it’s convenient,” Tony checked his watch. “But early afternoon is ideal. What do you say we head out when this is done?”

“S—sure,” Peter stammered, “I— I just have to pack some stuff at my apartment, so I can take the bus back and meet you—”

Tony scoffed, “Nonsense. I’ll drive.”

Peter blushed, already turning around to find a styrofoam box to transport the vials in. He knew they had a million — they got lab shipments all the time and Bruce never let them get thrown away.

Crouching and opening a cabinet, he found the jackpot. “I’ll just take this down to the ice machine so we can leave as soon as the centrifuge is done,” Peter said. 

“I’ll come with you,” Tony replied smoothly, standing from the lab chair and moving his goggles to the top of his head.

Peter led the way through the lab door, letting his goggles hang loosely around his neck as he walked with Tony in silence down the basement hallway. The room that contained the ice machine and autoclave was just a few doors down.

Stepping into the closet-sized room, Peter set the styrofoam box on top of the machine and reached to open the door to the ice. He stopped when he realized Tony had shut the door behind them. 

“Tony?” Peter asked, looking up, “We usually just leave that open all the ti—”

Peter’s words were cut off by Tony’s mouth meeting his in a deep kiss. Peter moaned, instantly, hands gripping the white lab coat material at Tony’s shoulders while Tony’s strong hands held him on his hips. He guided Peter backward, into the wall, pressing his hips into Peter’s and never breaking their kiss. Tony reached a hand up to Peter’s jaw, having locked his hips in place to his satisfaction. Peter moaned and ground his hips forward into Tony, feeling a hardness in Tony’s pants that echoed his own erection. 

He kissed, and kissed, until Tony moved his mouth to the spot below his ear and sucked the skin there. Peter moaned in response, too loudly. Tony moved away, holding Peter’s hips away from his own.

“No— no,” Peter objected, pulling at Tony’s shoulders to bring him back. He was surprisingly very solid, and didn’t budge.

“Tony—” Peter whined in a whisper, searching Tony’s face for a sign of sympathy. Tony’s eyes were hooded, and his face was flushed. Peter stared at his lips, wishing they would come back to him.

“Not yet, Peter,” Tony said. He exhaled, leaning in one more time to kiss Peter on the forehead and pull him into a hug. Peter held Tony closely, enjoying the feeling of having him in his arms, but as soon as Peter’s hips started making small movements Tony broke their embrace once again.

“Get the ice,” Tony commanded, voice gravelly. “I’ll be outside with the car.” When he was done speaking, he turned to prop the door open again and walked down the hallway toward the stairwell.

Peter let out a long, long, sigh. Cursing, he adjusted his pants and opened the ice machine angrily. He shoveled ice by stabbing the ice cube pile with the scooper like it had personally offended him.

Slamming the door closed to the ice chest, Peter walked back to the lab. He put a plastic holder in the middle of the box to support the vials, which were done centrifuging. Once Peter had the vials neatly arranged, he closed the box with a fitted styrofoam lid. Peter shucked his lab coat, gloves, and goggles. He slung his backpack over a shoulder and walked over to Quill, who was busy coding on his laptop.

Quill looked up at Peter, moving his headphones to see what was up.

“I’m heading out,” Peter said. “I’ll be back next week. Tony’s flying me to New York with him.”

Quill looked surprised, but smiled back. “Have fun, Peter. I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Later,” Peter smiled. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, Peter stepped outside and walked to the loading zone where he guessed Tony might be. He had guessed right — the black Cadillac was already idling there. Tony wasn’t visible through the tinted windows, so Peter tugged on the handle of the passenger door to get in, hoping it was open.

The new car smell wafted through his nose as Peter turned to plop his backpack behind the seat. He noticed Tony’s lab coat and goggles were stuffed back there too. 

Peter balanced the styrofoam box containing his halfway-done synthesis on his lap. It was the safest place to hold it, Peter thought. It was only by complete chance that it also happened to be the best place to keep his chubby out of sight from Tony, too.

Tony already had the directions to his apartment building loaded on his phone, so Peter didn’t say a word as Tony started driving away from campus. 

Fifteen minutes of silence later, Tony parked.

Finding the courage to speak as he unbuckled his seat belt, Peter asked, “Do— um, do you— maybe want to come up? With— with me?” 

Tony turned to look at Peter for the first time since he’d gotten into the car. 

“Yes,” he said, simply.

“Okay, cool,” he said, opening the car door. Peter clutched the box in his arms while he walked up the building’s stairs, waving a key fob to open the door at the entrance.

Peter held the door open for Tony, who walked past him into the lobby and waited for Peter to show him where to go next. Peter, basically waddling because he was still half-hard, jabbed the up arrow to the elevator like his life depended on it.

“Easy, tiger,” Tony laughed.

Peter blushed, returning his arm to clutch the box.

They rode in silence to the seventh floor, Peter hyper-aware for the first time of the hallway’s stained carpeting and the burnt-out bulb above his apartment door. Hoping Tony didn’t mind—it was really out of his control, anyway—Peter unlocked his apartment door and held it open as Tony followed behind him. 

“Thirsty?” Peter asked, setting the box down on the kitchen counter and looking to Tony, who hadn’t moved from his spot a few paces from the door.

“You could say that,” Tony replied, crossing his arms. He tore his gaze with effort from Peter to look around the common area of the apartment. “Nice space you have here,” he commented.

Peter swallowed, thickly, deciding he was done letting Tony lead him on. What was the advice Quill had given him? Grab life by the horns? 

Gathering his courage, Peter walked straight to Tony and met him with a kiss. Tony’s body relaxed as Peter snaked his arms around to rest on Tony’s muscular back. 

Tony kissed Peter languidly as he slowly walked him backward to the couch. They shuffled around the furniture until Tony was able to push Peter onto the cushions, giving Peter a brief view of his hungry expression. Without hesitation, Tony covered Peter’s body with his own and pressed his hips down into Peter’s.

This time when Peter moaned, Tony didn’t stop.

Tony kissed Peter’s neck, trailing from just below his ear until he reached his collar bone, pulling the fabric of Peter’s t-shirt collar to nip at it. 

Peter snaked his fingers in Tony’s hair to pull his head up for another deep kiss. 

They ground against each other while they kissed, Peter pushing up for every thrust Tony made downward with his bulge. Their pants slid against each other with delicious friction, until Peter couldn’t stand the restrictive material and pulled his mouth away to pant, “Can— can we— take off— our clothes?”

Tony pulled away slightly, considering Peter’s request. “Peter, I…” he started, and as Tony trailed off Peter could tell he was going to say no.

“Tony, please,” Peter begged.

“I think we should—” Tony started to say, but Peter took the hand Tony had resting at his jaw and pulled it to the bulge in his jeans.

“I _need—_ Tony,” Peter said, looking into his eyes. “Please… _please_.”

Tony breathed heavily as he watched Peter’s face carefully, making a decision in the span of an instant by pressing his hand down into Peter’s hardness and meeting his lips again in a kiss.

Tony expertly opened Peter’s buttons and fly with one hand, dipping his hand down into the waistband of Peter’s boxers to grip his shaft with an experienced touch. Peter moaned, hips moving up involuntarily. Tony pumped his hand in response as he sucked on Peter’s bottom lip.

Peter panted, moans getting more frequent and louder as Tony’s hand grasped the head of his cock and spread precum over the tip. Was this what heaven felt like? He had never felt this good before. 

Tony pumped quickly, slickness aiding his motions, and moved back to kiss Peter’s neck. Peter grabbed the clothes on Tony’s back with balled fists as his orgasm unexpectedly overtook him, toes curling in his shoes, hips thrusting, balls drawn up tightly as Tony’s strokes encouraged his cock to keep pulsing even after his orgasm was over.

Peter opened his eyelids, not even realizing he’d shut them, to stare into Tony’s warm brown eyes. Tony was regarding him carefully, but with a haze of— was that lust? Peter wondered— clouding his expression.

Tony finally let Peter’s cock go as it started to soften, and settled himself down now that he didn’t need the space between them to give Peter pleasure. Peter enjoyed the comforting weight of Tony’s chest, and played with Tony’s hair with a huge smile on his face.

“Wow,” Peter said quietly, looking deep in Tony’s eyes.

Tony smiled, pecking Peter on the lips. “Not half bad?” he asked.

Peter laughed. A deep, happy laugh that came from his soul. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “I’d be embarrassed at how fast I came if I hadn’t been waiting for this so long. You were starting to give me carpal tunnel.”

Tony smirked, joy covering his face. “Your moans are hot," he praised.

Peter blinked. Tony’s hardness was still pressing into his thigh, and he realized Tony hadn’t come.

“Tony— let me— uh, let me—” Peter said, trying to wiggle.

Tony kept Peter pinned under his weight, amused as he watched Peter try to get up. “Hmm?” he said.

“I want to—” Peter started, but Tony cut him off with a kiss.

Pulling away, Tony said, “I can wait. Why don’t you go get packed?”

“Umm…” Peter’s brows furrowed, “Are— are you sure?”

Tony nodded, then moved off of Peter’s chest to sit on the couch, between his legs. With the immediate urgency of sex gone from Peter’s mind, he thought it was strange Tony didn’t want him to reciprocate, but Peter chalked it up to needing to leave for their flight. 

“I really don’t mind,” Peter mentioned again, brushing at his shirt as if to magically wipe off the cum stains. 

“I know, Peter,” Tony smiled. “Go get ready, I’ll be here.”

“O-okay,” Peter acquiesced, getting up and buttoning his jeans. He looked back at Tony as he walked toward his room, but didn’t press the issue again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter settles in at the Avengers Facility in upstate NY. Tony helps. ;)

Compared to Tony’s suave and nonchalant demeanor, Peter felt like a country bumpkin every time he couldn’t stop himself from expressing a mix of astonishment and excitement at every lavish detail of Tony’s private jet. 

Peter spent the hour it took to fly from Boston to New York constantly running his hands over the jet’s spacious leather seats, sipping sparkling water, gazing out the window, gazing at Tony, and generally trying to stop himself from talking. But Peter’s mouth didn’t stop moving. He kept asking what he assumed were probably dumb questions and making lame awe-inspired remarks, but Tony responded to everything Peter said with an adoring smile. It defied the laws of nature. In what reality could this handsome billionaire be so patient and amused by him? 

Peter had felt largely inadequate compared to Tony with every interaction they’d had so far, but riding on his private plane was taking it to a new level. If Tony hadn’t sat by his side, occasionally running his hand through Peter’s hair or touching his hand, Peter would have felt completely out of his league. As it stood, he was ranked sixteenth seed with a snowball’s chance in hell at winning Tony over, and he was going to take that shred of hope and run with it as long as he could.

When they landed, Happy was there to greet them on the tarmac.

“Hey, boss,” Happy said with a big smile on his face.

“Happy. This is Peter,” Tony introduced, taking the last few stairs down to the tarmac. He immediately started walking across the pavement toward the looming Avengers Facility.

“H-hi, Happy,” Peter smiled. He awkwardly looked around before trailing after Tony, who was speed walking toward the compound on a paved walkway, persona back in full work mode. 

“Have a nice visit?” Happy asked as they walked.

“Wonderful,” Tony replied brusquely, checking his watch. “You know it’s always a treat when I get to visit MIT.”

Happy nodded, looking nervous about something he needed to say. “Look, uh, Tony… don’t shoot the messenger, but—”

Tony rolled his eyes, “What’s Pepper trying to saddle me with this time?”

Happy cringed. “Well, Pepper is a little irritated you left on Sunday before dealing with Cross’s paperwork and she was hoping you might be able to call the office—”

“No, Happy, we’re going straight home. You can tell Pepper I’m taking a personal day, not that she needs to fucking know,” Tony said with a huff.

Realizing Tony’s turn of phrase, Peter piped up, “Home?”

“Mmhm,” Tony replied, glancing over his shoulder. He slowed down to walk with Peter side-by-side and toned down the edge to his voice. “Did I not mention? I live here, technically.”

“Oh,” Peter replied with surprise, eyes widening.

Tony smirked, “Don’t worry, you’ll have your own room.”

Peter blushed a deep shade of red, replying more softly this time, “Oh.”

Shifting his attention back to Happy, Tony rapid-fire listed tasks for him to take care of, “I need you to contact my lawyer and double-check that Strange has signed off on the settlement. I also want my schedule for the next week completely wiped. Make sure the south wing is finished being settled by tomorrow at the latest. We’ll need a new chemical shipment as soon as possible. Make sure it includes strontium hydroxide. And all of the lab technicians should be in attendance for a Thursday morning meeting.”

Happy was furiously typing Tony’s instructions into his phone as they walked, throwing in a quick step every once in a while because his strides weren’t quite as fast as Tony’s. 

“I want documents drawn up for Peter’s use of the south wing. Peter needs to sign by the end of the week,” Tony added.

“Is that under Marco’s purview?” Happy asked.

“No. Yes. I don’t know, find out,” Tony said.

Continuing, Tony added, “I won’t be needing Sandra to cook this week. Get delivery for Peter and I from Giuseppe’s tonight.”

“Giu… sep… pe’s…” Happy muttered to himself, still typing.

The three had almost reached the doors to the main building, and Peter’s hands were sweaty, still wondering what Tony meant by the fact he _lived_ here. It was also — strangely — a turn on, watching and listening to Tony while he was working. His confidence was evident in both his personal and professional life, but this edition of Work Tony was a new degree of attractive. 

“Peter,” Tony said. He immediately earned the younger man’s attention. 

“Yeah?” Peter asked.

“You come with me.”

“S-sure,” Peter stammered.

Peter hardly had a chance to take in the sights of the new, big building he was strolling through with the owner of Stark Industries. He made mental and physical effort to walk parallel with Tony, so Tony didn’t feel like he was leading Peter around. 

“Where to?” Peter asked conversationally.

“I’m giving you a small tour,” Tony said. “We’ll go to my private wing. Office first, then I’ll show you where you’re staying tonight.”

“Okay, cool. Hey, uh, my bag is still on the plane—”

“A porter will bring your things,” Tony replied. “And don’t worry, all of the employees here have the highest level of government security clearance. They’re trustworthy.”

Peter furrowed his brow, but nodded. Weird, he thought. Or was it? 

Tony led Peter up a staircase and down a hallway that was blocked off by solid metal doors, like an elevator. Tony placed the palm of his hand on a reader by the door frame and stepped through. Peter hesitantly followed in tow.

“JARVIS,” Tony said to the room, “this is Peter Parker, please allow him full access from now on.”

A man’s voice with a British accent replied, startling Peter.

“Of course, Tony,” the disembodied voice said.

“Wow,” Peter mumbled, looking around the space they were currently occupying.

“This is the Avengers personal quarters. Whenever collaborators come to stay, they stay here. This is basically my living space,” Tony explained.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Peter mumbled again.

The space was enormous, filled with couches, armchairs, coffee tables, a television, bookshelves, and a long table. It was decorated with a warm, earthy color scheme and had personal touches like bookshelves and paintings that kept it from seeming sterile. Peter immediately felt comfortable. 

A spacious kitchen took up one corner, and large windows overlooked the compound outside. On the wall opposite the windows, frosted glass separated the living area from a conference room and other offices.

Tony led the way to the glass-walled rooms, opening a door with his back. He watched Peter as he approached and entered with Tony.

“This is my office,” Tony said. 

The room was about as big as Peter’s entire apartment, filled with work benches on all sides and a computer desk that boasted three monitors on an adjustable desk so that Tony could stand or sit, depending on his mood. Various mechanical parts and pieces were strewn across the work areas, and a robot pushed into a corner was wearing a dunce hat.

“Is that Dum-E?” Peter laughed.

“The one any only,” Tony replied with a smile. 

“This place is incredible,” Peter replied, walking to a table and picking up a random gadget. “I’m blown away.”

“This lab is nothing compared to the one I had in California,” Tony shrugged. “But I do a lot in the bigger labs on the compound these days, managing research for the space station.”

Peter nodded absentmindedly, then turned to Tony. The billionaire stood in the doorway, watching Peter with an unreadable expression.

“Still… it’s really, really cool,” Peter said genuinely.

Tony smiled. It met his eyes.

“Glad you like it,” Tony said. “Come this way.”

The pair left the lab room to walk down a long hallway that reminded Peter somewhat of a hotel corridor. At the end of the hall, Tony turned right down another, shorter, hallway until finally stopping in front of a closed door. After only a moment, the door opened for him without a single gesture or command.

“This is my space,” Tony said casually, walking into his room with hands stuffed in his pockets. 

The room was enormous, like a huge studio apartment. At the far side was a massive California king bed, adjacent to a walk-in closet and ensuite bathroom. One wall had floor-to-ceiling windows that led to a balcony. Peter looked around at Tony’s personal touches, noting abstract art and an occasional schematic of a machine he probably designed. In one nook there was a record player.

Peter strolled over to the bookshelf of vinyl Tony had meticulously organized. 

“Okay… Judas Priest, Van Halen, Ratt, Guns n’ Roses… I can understand. But Sleater-Kinney? Really?” Peter wrinkled his nose. “Well, I guess that’s maybe not so surprising.”

Peter crouched down to see what else the older man liked to listen to.

“And Nathaniel Rateliff? Huh.” 

“I do like _some_ modern bands,” Tony replied with a shrug.

“You have great taste,” Peter grinned over his shoulder.

“I know.”

Peter blushed at Tony’s tone, straightening up from dipping his toe into Tony’s personal life.

“So…” Peter ventured, biting his lip, “If I’m not sleeping here, then where are you putting me?”

Tony smirked, “I never said you weren’t sleeping here.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide. 

“You said—”

“I said you’d have your own room. There’s a difference,” Tony corrected.

A heartbeat later, a grin spread across Peter’s face and he walked quickly over to give Tony a big hug. 

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter said into his shirt.

Tony’s arms wrapped around Peter’s back, a smile pressed into his hair.

“I was so worried you were going to banish me somewhere else,” Peter sighed. “I mean, I just already live so far away. I want to make the most of the visit. If that’s— if that’s okay.”

Tony laughed, caressing the side of Peter’s face.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want you anywhere else,” Tony murmured.

Their lips met in a kiss. A sweet, slow, happy kiss. It was interrupted, not surprisingly, by Peter’s rumbling stomach.

“Hungry?” 

“Always,” Peter smiled sheepishly. 

“Well it’s not really time for dinner yet,” Tony checked his watch. “But we can do some wine and cheese before Giuseppe’s arrives.”

“Sounds great!”

* * *

It was 6 o’clock when Tony started pouring Peter his second glass of wine. They were comfortably arranged in the living area of the private wing. Never one to break a pinky promise, Peter pulled out his phone during the downtime and quickly texted Ned to let him know he’d be out of town with Tony and that he’d broken the news of the relationship to Aunt May. After hitting send, Peter set his phone down and kicked his shoes off. He propped himself up on the couch to relax, head moving slowly to the soft music Tony was playing through the speakers. 

In the kitchen, Tony put the now-empty bottle of pinot noir in the recycle bin before pocketing the cork in his jeans. He grabbed their wine glasses by the stems and walked back to where he’d been sitting with Peter.

“I’m not sure if I forgot to mention,” Tony said, “but Rhodey is coming by for a few days to check on things. Is it okay with you if he hangs out with us tonight?”

“Oh, sure!” Peter said, taking the wine glass carefully from Tony. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

Tony smiled and sat on the other end of the couch. 

“I must say, it’s nice to be home,” Tony sighed.

Peter nodded, “You’ve had a busy couple of weeks… not to mention, even just today was kind of a lot.”

“I think the afternoon in your apartment was my favorite part,” Tony winked, sipping his wine.

Peter, placing his hand to his heart, acted dramatically offended, “You mean my lab tour wasn’t the highlight of your entire life?” 

“Close, but no cigar,” Tony smirked.

Peter pouted, “Well then, I think my favorite part of today was definitely packing my bags. You know, choosing t-shirts is really just such a riveting process—”

Peter laughed hysterically as Tony grabbed and pulled on one of his socked feet, narrowly avoiding spilling his wine. Tony set his glass down and reached over to put Peter’s glass on the coffee table too before relinquishing Peter’s foot to cover the younger man’s body with his own.

Peter stopped laughing, but still felt breathless.

“Hi,” Peter said, nose to nose with Tony.

“Hi,” Tony replied. He nuzzled Peter’s neck, kissing from his earlobe to his adam’s apple. 

“What— what time is— is Happy bringing... dinner?” Peter panted.

“We have plenty of time,” Tony murmured, snaking his fingertips under Peter’s shirt.

“Are you— are you sure?” Peter asked. His pants were starting to feel very uncomfortable. 

“Absolutely,” Tony replied, pulling Peter’s shirt up to kiss down his chest.

Peter moaned as Tony found a nipple and sucked on it. Tony smiled to himself, rubbing Peter through his pants and getting an even stronger moan in response.

“May I?” Tony asked, looking up at Peter’s face as he tapped on Peter’s pants button and gave the skin below his belly button a kiss. 

“Yes. Totally,” Peter said breathlessly, nodding double-time.

Tony unbuttoned and unzipped Peter’s jeans, tugging them down his hips along with Peter’s boxers. Peter’s erection sprang free from its confines, plopping onto his stomach. The blush of his cock contrasted against the milky-white complexion of the rest of Peter’s pale body.

“So gorgeous,” Tony praised, grabbing Peter’s shaft and kissing the tip.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Peter whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. If he watched Tony do this, there was no way he could stop from coming too fast.

Tony put his mouth around Peter’s cock, sucking steadily and moving his head up and down. He put his neck into the motions, and it wasn’t long before Peter’s moans started to change.

Sensing Peter’s short fuse, Tony pulled off to shower kisses on Peter’s shaft. He lazily pumped Peter’s cock with his hand and nipped Peter’s hip bone to give him a short reprieve. But after a few moments, Tony swiped Peter’s precum away with his tongue and started sucking again. He sank low, nose nuzzling Peter’s pubic hair. 

Peter gasped, grabbing the fabric of the couch with both hands to try and keep himself together while Tony bobbed his head. Tony made sure to caress the tip of Peter’s dick with his tongue every time he came up. 

Peter was making high moans, reaching the edge again. Tony pulled off completely and pumped his hand on the slick shaft, watching Peter’s cock as it started to leak precum at an unprecedented rate.

The younger man suddenly stopped being able to control his thrusts. His hips swayed up and down, seeking more speed from Tony’s hand and the sensation of _more_.

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter whined.

Tony put his mouth back on Peter, giving the head a sloppy wet kiss and licking off the precum. Tony pumped his hand quickly with his mouth lightly touching Peter’s cockhead, and when Peter started panting again Tony sucked Peter’s cock in deep. Tony bobbed up and down with his mouth, holding Peter’s balls and the base of Peter’s cock with one hand. Warm brown eyes watched Peter squirm, and suddenly, Tony sank his mouth all the way down. He pulled Peter deep into his throat and simultaneously swallowed. 

“OH,” Peter gasped, and suddenly he couldn’t keep it together anymore. The feeling of a wet pulse around his shaft pulled his orgasm through his cock. He felt it come all the way up from his toes. 

Peter opened his eyes and took in the sight of Tony’s beautiful, handsome face wrapped around his dick as he pulsed inside his mouth. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he said, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the last pulse pushed his cum into Tony’s wet heat.

Peter sank, boneless, into the couch cushions after his orgasm finished pulsing. Tony slowly pulled his mouth off of Peter’s wilting cock. He swallowed, wiping the back of his hand across his lips before rising to give Peter a kiss.

They cuddled side-by-side on the couch while Peter struggled to catch his breath. Finally, Peter said, “Fuck, Tony. That was fucking incredible.”

“Good,” Tony growled, nipping Peter’s earlobe.

Peter sighed dreamily, turning so he could face Tony, “Please tell me I can reciprocate this time?”

Tony smirked, “Out of time, Pete.” 

Peter bit his bottom lip and reached out to feel Tony’s hard bulge through the material of his jeans. Tony’s mouth dropped open as he continued watching Peter’s face.

“No?” Peter asked, continuing to rub.

“No,” Tony said, regaining his composure. He grabbed Peter’s wrist and moved his arm gently behind his back, then leaned in to kiss Peter deeply. After an unfathomable amount of time, they parted, Tony resting his forehead on Peter’s.

“Next time?” Peter asked with a hopeful note, giving Tony a smile.

“Mmm,” Tony replied, nuzzling into Peter’s neck. He was finding it hard to let go of him just yet. He released Peter’s captive hand and snaked his palm down to grab Peter’s ass.

Not a moment later, JARVIS came to life in the room and made an announcement.

“Happy has just arrived with your dinner, Tony,” JARVIS said.

Tony sighed, relaxing his grip on Peter’s butt. “Time to get decent,” Tony said.

Peter stole another quick kiss before rolling off the couch. He re-fastened his pants and took a seat on the couch across from Tony, watching in amusement as the older man sat up and looked around as if in a daze.

“Your hair is a little messy,” Peter pointed out, picking up his forgotten wine glass and taking a sip.

“I’ll be right back,” Tony replied absentmindedly, stalking off to the bathroom.

Peter sighed, double-checking his shirt while he was alone to make sure he was still presentable. He wished Tony would let him in closer. Was it a trust issue? Had Peter not made it obvious to Tony how enamored he was?

Sighing, he turned to see the doors to the lounge slide open as Happy stepped inside. He looked flustered.

“Tony, I swear to god—” he started, before realizing Tony wasn’t in the room.

Blinking, Happy said, “Oh. It’s you. Where’s Tony?”

Happy walked over to the kitchen and set the bags of food on the counter. 

“Uh… bathroom?” Peter replied.

“Well, when he comes back you give him an earful from me,” Happy replied, scowling.

“Why, what happened?” Peter asked, getting up to walk toward the kitchen. 

“Oh, nothing— just making impossible demands, as usual,” Happy complained.

Peter took a seat at a bar stool and took a thoughtful sip of wine. “Anything I can do to help?” he offered.

“No, no, don’t worry about it— unless? I mean, can you plate all of this for him? I really need to get going, I’m already late to pick up Rhodey but Tony insisted on having the food first, for some _insane_ reason.”

“Sure, yeah! I can do that,” Peter smiled. He slid off of the stool and walked around the peninsula.

“Thanks, kid,” Happy said, slapping Peter on the shoulder. He left without another word.

Peter peeked into the carryout bags to try and determine if plates would work, or for some reason bowls might be better, and his eyebrows shot up when he realized just how much food Tony had bought.

“Sheesh,” he murmured, and started opening cabinets to find plates.

After carefully extracting all eight boxes of food, and wondering how practical it really was to put all of it on plates only to eat a tiny portion from each box, Tony appeared.

“Hey. Where’s Happy?” Tony said, sidling up to Peter.

“He left,” Peter frowned. “I offered to help, but... can we just open these and put whatever on a plate? Or do you want them all out?”

“The easy version,” Tony replied immediately. “No need to get all the dishes dirty. Did you find the lasagnas yet?”

Peter wondered if Tony’s calm demeanor was a result of some business he took care of in the privacy of the bathroom. He didn’t seem nearly as horny as before.

“Ummm…” Peter thought, “Wait, there’s more than one?”

“I know you said you don’t have a preference, but I ordered all three off of their menu,” Tony replied. 

Peter’s eyes grew in excitement, “Wow.”

“Here,” Tony opened a box with a scribble on it that wasn’t legible to Peter’s eyes. “This one’s sausage.” 

The scent of home filled Peter’s nostrils, and his mouth was already watering at the thought of digging in to such an amazing meal. Overcome with emotion, Peter choked out, “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony smiled, warmth radiating from his eyes. “My pleasure,” he said. 

* * *

Dinner was a romantic affair. The real party started an hour later, when Rhodey showed up.

“Mr. Stank!” Rhodey exclaimed, sweeping into the living room.

Tony rose immediately to embrace his friend in a hug. “Hey, man! How was your trip?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. Typical flight delays,” Rhodey rolled his eyes. 

Tony nodded, moving aside to gesture to Peter. “Rhodey, you remember Peter?”

“Of course,” Rhodey smiled. As he stepped forward, Peter got the hint and rose to meet him for a hug too.

Blushing, Peter stammered after he pulled away, “Good to— to see you again.”

“Same to you,” Rhodey nodded. He was carrying a duffle bag on his shoulder and turned to Tony when he pulled away.

“I’m going to go drop my stuff off in my room. I brought a bottle from Seven Caves, hope you’re in the mood for rum.”

“A man after my own heart,” Tony swooned. 

Rhodey laughed, pulling the bottle from his bag and passing it to Tony. “Don’t drink it all before I get back,” he called over his shoulder, heading toward the hallway.

“You like rum?” Tony asked Peter, turning toward the kitchen. 

“Yeah, sure,” Peter nodded.

“On the rocks or dark and stormy?” Tony asked.

“Um…” Peter glanced around nervously. He was already tipsy from the wine. “I — I guess on the rocks?”

Tony smirked from the kitchen, placing three lowball glasses on the counter. He opened the freezer to retrieve a silicone ice cube tray and popped out three giant-sized cubes.

“You don’t need to be nervous, Pete,” Tony said, opening the bottle and pouring a finger into each glass.

“I’m not,” Peter said defensively, turning red. He cleared his throat and asked more quietly, “I— does— does Rhodey know?”

“Yes,” Tony said matter-of-factly.

Done pouring, Tony corked the bottle. He looked up at Peter and held out a glass for him.

“Oh,” Peter said, taking what Tony offered.

“Is that a problem?”

Peter shook his head quickly, “No. Not at all.” 

“It seems like it might be,” Tony replied, cocking an eyebrow. He came around the peninsula to stand in front of Peter.

“No, I’m glad. It makes this seem… more official,” Peter admitted breaking eye contact from Tony to take a sip of rum. The taste had more dimension than any other rum he’d tried. For all his youthful inexperience, all Peter could think was, _this is way better than Bacardi_. 

Tony’s eyes watched Peter carefully, a vulnerability hidden inside that Peter couldn’t identify yet. He reached out and squeezed Peter’s shoulder, then turned as he heard Rhodey coming back into the room.

“So can we play darts, or what? I’m dying for something fun after this boring-ass week,” Rhodey joked. He found his glass of rum on the counter where Tony left it.

Tony smiled at Rhodey fondly, “Whatever you want! The pool table just got delivered.”

“It’s on,” Rhodey grinned.

The three took a hidden staircase to a floor below the living room. It was dimly lit and furnished with dart boards, a pool table, a ping pong table, air hockey, and shuffleboard. 

“Holy shit,” Peter appraised once he took the last step down.

“Cool, right?” Tony grinned.

“This guy can’t live anywhere without a man-cave,” Rhodey said to Peter. “It’s like he never grew up, or something.”

“Hey, I think you’ve logged more hours playing air hockey than any other guest. Isn’t that right, JARVIS?” Tony countered.

JARVIS’s voice replied instantly, “That’s correct, sir. James has spent 20.3 hours over the last six months playing air hockey, more than the second-place guest Clinton, who is tied with Natasha…”

“Point taken,” Rhodey replied, holding a palm up.

Peter laughed, not quite able to comprehend how much fun he was having. He walked over to a corner to check out the darts.

“So... do one of you guys wanna show me how to play?” Peter asked.

Horrified, Rhodey said, “You're telling me you're a grad student and you still haven't played a game of darts? What is America coming to?”

Peter shrugged, “I mean, I know you throw them at the target and... the middle scores the most points?”

Rhodey gave a long, exasperated sigh in response while Tony looked on in amusement.

“Parker, before you leave this place you're going to be the best dart thrower this side of the Mississippi," Rhodey promised. "Now look, you hold it with the pointy side _facing_ the board…”

The three men stayed up late drinking and playing games. When it was time for bed, Tony and Peter wandered to Tony's room together. Tony only wore boxers. They made out languidly, but tiredly, and when they got too sleepy Peter shifted position. He basked in the feeling of Tony's warm skin on his back and strong arms wrapped around his waist until they both drifted off into peaceful sleep.

* * *

Tony woke up with the sun.

He put on silk pants and a t-shirt before sneaking out of his room, leaving a sleeping Peter nestled in the center of his California king. He made a beeline to the kitchen for coffee, knowing he would find Rhodey there. Tony wanted to have him alone for a talk.

“Morning, Tones,” Rhodey greeted. He had a cup of coffee already and was sitting on the couch with the newspaper.

“Any left for me?” Tony yawned.

“In the pot,” Rhodey said.

Tony hummed to himself while he made a steaming mug just the way he liked it.

“Sleep well?” Rhodey asked.

“Yes, actually,” Tony smirked. 

“I’m guessing Wonder Boy had something to do with that?” Rhodey smiled.

Tony bobbed his head side to side while shrugging, “Yes and no?”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow.

“I like this one, Rhodey.”

“You like all of them, Tony,” Rhodey replied flatly. 

“I know, but… I really don’t want to screw this one up,” Tony sighed. “So… I’m making him… you know, take it slow.”

This time, Rhodey looked genuinely surprised. “You mean you haven’t slept with him yet?” Rhodey asked.

Tony shook his head, “No. At least, not for my benefit.”

“Does he know you’re this serious?”

Tony deflected by staring at a point behind Rhodey while sipping his coffee. Instead of answering, he replied with a question, “Do you have any advice?” 

“Tony…” Rhodey sighed, “If you want this to work, you have to trust him.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. They both knew he didn’t trust people, as a general rule.

Rhodey continued, “You’re holding him at a distance. He’s going to notice sooner or later. Relationships require trust. Communicate.”

Tony shifted in his seat, lips turning down in a frown.

Rhodey leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “I know you have hang ups. Everybody does.”

“I…” 

“Practice. Pretend I’m Peter. Tell me what’s on your mind,” Rhodey suggested.

Tony scrubbed his face with his hand and sighed. After a pause, he said, “If you were Peter, I’d say I don’t want just meaningless sex.”

“Okay, and is there anything Peter could do to prove it’s not meaningless?”

“Jesus, Rhodey,” Tony said, swiveling to lean back on the sofa to mimic being in a psychiatrist’s office. He dramatically draped a hand over his eyes.

“Do you want my help or not?” Rhodey asked, exasperated.

“I know Peter likes me, but he… he can’t commit. He’s too young for that,” Tony whined.

“Is he?”

“There’s no way to be sure he’s sure.”

“Tony, hate to break it to you, but that’s life,” Rhodey said. “Take a leap of faith.”

Tony rolled his eyes and sat up again, more or less so he could keep drinking coffee while muttering.

“Tell me what you like about him,” Rhodey pried. He was genuinely curious and noticed Tony’s ability to take advice was dwindling.

“Number one, he’s _gorgeous_.”

“Things that aren’t skin deep,” Rhodey corrected.

Tony smirked, but his expression faded to a smile when he said, “He’s brilliant. Peter can think of things that I can’t. It’s something I really admire.”

“And?”

“He’s not… jaded. By life. Or by money. He has an innocent spark inside of him that lights up. I really love that.”

“One more thing,” Rhodey prompted.

Tony grew thoughtful, “He’s considerate. I think… you know, we both lost family when we were young, but instead of getting lost in the dark side like I did he still turned out okay. Maybe even better than okay. Peter is the kind of person I wanted to be.”

“Sounds like you have a great start,” Rhodey grinned.

“What?”

“For telling him how you feel,” Rhodey replied, turning his attention back to the newspaper. He opened back up to the business section.

“You’re honestly not expecting me to just say all of that to him,” Tony insisted.

“You’ll figure it out.”

Tony was officially dismissed. Rhodey was absorbed in the paper, and the billionaire had too much on his mind to sit idle. He got up and started walking to his lab.

As Tony walked, Rhodey added one more thing from behind the curtain of his newspaper, “I know you, Tones. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

Tony paused, but didn’t reply before opening the frosted door to his sanctuary.

After an hour of tinkering — time that seemed to fly by in seconds — Tony looked up to see Peter peeking around the lab door. 

With a bright smile, Tony said, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Peter blushed, “Hey, Tony.”

“Did you get coffee yet?”

Peter shook his head.

Rising from his chair, Tony said, “Come on, I’ll make you some.”

* * *

After breakfast, Tony and Peter got dressed separately. Tony wore his most casual outfit Peter had seen him in — just a black hoodie and some jeans. Peter dressed similarly, but was running warm in the compound and opted for just a t-shirt. By mid-morning, they had reconvened in Tony’s office to start working on a patent. 

“The most important thing to remember about patents is they expire after twenty years,” Tony said. 

“In your patent application, you’ll have to include a Markush structure that represents the general chemical compound of your synthetic silk. You don’t have to include every atom, just the general form with R-groups substituted for side chains. That’ll protect your intellectual property from anyone who reads your application,” he added.

Tony clapped his hands and expanded them in a quick motion to bring up a virtual workstation in the center of his office.

Peter’s eyes grew wide. “Wow,” he said.

“You can use this to generate your structure. Beats sitting at a keyboard,” Tony smiled.

“The application we have to write is a compound claim, since you developed a new molecule,” Tony said. “So, firstly… do you have a title for your invention?” 

Peter balked. “I mean, I’ve just been calling it synthetic spider silk. We could add high-tensile to be more descriptive?” 

“Sure, that works,” Tony said, typing a new document in mid-air.

“Are you federally sponsored?” Tony asked.

“No.”

“Base your work off of anything previously patented?”

“No.”

“We’re off to a wonderful start,” Tony said.

“Now. For the actual writing, you’ll need to describe the background of your material. You need to keep this short, for a variety of irritating legal reasons. After that, you summarize the invention. Include a description of the nature of the invention, how it works, and what it’s used for. Got it?”

“Okay, yeah,” Peter nodded. So far, this didn’t seem too hard.

“After that, we have to describe the drawing… aka, your Markush structure, in a lot of detail. Then write a claims section that talks about what part of your chemical compound, specifically, belongs to you. But let’s start at the beginning. You can work on a diagram of your chemical compound, then start writing.”

Peter nodded, “Is that it?”

“Basically.”

Peter ruffled his hair, “So how do I work this… floating diagram?”

Tony smiled, moving behind Peter so he could gently guide his hands. He moved Peter’s fingers and showed him how to make gestures to create objects and move them across space. The hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood at attention with Tony’s close proximity.

“See? You just move. Whatever seems natural. JARVIS should understand what you’re trying to do,” Tony said. He brushed his nose against Peter’s earlobe and moved away.

“Sounds great,” Peter smiled, cheeks red.

“I’ll be over here working on some thrusters if you need me,” Tony said.

Tony sat at a nearby workbench and grabbed a screwdriver in one hand, half-finished mechanical part in another.

Peter dragged his eyes from Tony’s form. He seemed to belong in the lab here. Like an animal in its natural habitat.

“Sounds good, Tony. Thanks,” Peter murmured.

* * *

Three hours of patent writing later, Peter was hungry and ready for lunch.

“Tony,” Peter said, clearing his throat as he finished writing a particularly challenging section of his patent application.

“Hmm?” Tony replied, eyes fixed on his work as he soldered some wires.

“I’m starving, do you want some lunch?”

“Sure, Pete,” Tony said, still staring at his thruster.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few,” Peter smiled.

Tony barely registered that he walked out the door.

About half an hour later, Peter returned with two plates. He set one in front of Tony, who blinked in surprise at food that seemed to have magically appeared in front of him.

“Oh, right. Thanks, Pe—”

Tony paused in the middle of forming Peter’s name, finally realizing what he brought. Peter waited, patiently, watching Tony stare at the food.

When Tony finally raised his eyes to Peter’s, Peter could swear he was holding back tears.

“I figured you’d like it,” Peter shrugged.

Tony glanced down at the grilled cheese on his plate. The bread was perfectly golden brown. Cheese was oozing down the sides. Peter even sliced the sandwich diagonally, which nonsensically seemed even more marvelous. It was the meal to Tony’s heart.

Clearing his throat, Tony leaned back in his chair with a cocky smile. “You sure do know how to woo ‘em, Pete.”

“Who, me?” Peter joked, looking around the room.

Tony stood, making quick moves around the work bench to stand in front of his lover.

“The one and only,” Tony said, leaning in to meet Peter for a kiss.

They kissed for what felt like centuries. The tightening in Tony’s heart at Peter’s small gesture brought fire to his veins. He was suddenly too hot for his hoodie, and he pulled away.

Peter cleared his throat, flushed, but kept his body from being plastered against Tony’s. “You should eat before it gets cold,” Peter encouraged, biting his lip to fight against his growing erection.

Tony smirked, “So full of wisdom.”

Tony stepped back to grab half of his grilled cheese, then touched toasts with Peter before they both took a big bite.

“Amazing,” Tony said with a full mouth.

Before he was done chewing the first bite, Tony pushed in another. “A masterpiece!” he exclaimed, smiling with pursed lips. With bread and cheese in the way, his praise sounded more like, _A mthhhrpthh!_

Peter grinned.

* * *

Peter and Tony spent the entire day in the lab, and spent the night hanging out just like they had before. The pair ate a gratuitous amount of pasta, they hung out with Rhodey in the man-cave, and they fell asleep with nothing more to write home about than kisses and a cuddle. 

They didn’t have sex the entire day. If Tony was starting to get frustrated at Peter’s sudden lack of interest in anything other than kissing, he definitely wasn’t going to admit it.

Tony breathed slowly, nose pressed close to Peter’s curly hair as he held him from behind. As Tony drifted off to sleep, he felt a new sensation at the back of his heart. Bliss. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was really home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter have a little more fun around the Avengers Facility.

Peter was still sipping his first cup of coffee when Tony slapped a thick stack of papers on the table in front of him.

“Expedited paperwork,” Tony explained. “For your research use in the south wing.”

Peter groaned, not ready for such dense reading material first thing in the morning. Flipping through the pages, he complained, “This is gonna take a while to read.”

“You don’t have to read it. Just sign where Marco put sticky notes.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at Tony, “Weren’t you the one to tell me not to trust anyone?”

Tony smirked, “Me? Never.”

After Peter read and re-read the paperwork, he graced it with his signature. Before the ink was even dry, Tony whisked him away for a grand tour.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked, trailing behind Tony. 

Tony had chosen a sharper outfit today. Although it was nice to see Tony dressed down, Peter would never get bored of his fitted blazers, shiny watches, and jeans that showed off his amazing ass.

“Everywhere,” Tony smirked.

“Can you be more specific?” Peter panted, speed walking to catch up and match Tony’s strides.

Tony suddenly stopped. Peter overshot, not expecting Tony to decelerate. He swiveled on his heel so they were face-to-face.

Tony had an arm crossed over his chest, the other elbow propped up on it so his fist could support his chin.

“Well, I suppose I could take you to the south wing,” Tony thought.

Peter raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“But we’re going there tomorrow, so what’s the point in that?” Tony gestured absentmindedly, clearly talking to himself. “We’ll skip it. East end first.”

Tony suddenly started walking again, this time at a 90-degree angle to where he was originally headed. 

Peter followed quickly.

“What’s in the east end?” Peter asked.

“Stark technology. All the latest and greatest. I’d tell you I’m not trying to show off — but I totally am.”

Peter hid a smile.

They strolled down a modern hallway, occasionally passing scientists in white lab coats that gave Tony a wide berth. Eventually, they reached a doorway labeled MACHINE ROOM 1. Tony put his palm on the reader to unlock the doors and held one door open for Peter to step onto the high catwalk.

“This side is for the non-industrial tech, if you will. Most of what we make here is directly tied to the space station,” Tony said, following Peter onto the walkway.

The catwalk provided an incredible view into the machine room. The room itself was as large as an airplane hangar — something similar to the warehouse at IKEA, Peter thought with amusement. The ceiling was made of criss-crossed metal beams. White lights illuminated the windowless space. Teams of white-coated technicians huddled in teams near large pieces of equipment, often talking to one another with wild gestures. Welders and mechanical-minded employees wore navy blue work shirts — they were the ones actually handling all the items in the room. Peter saw sparks flying from a particularly active project.

“We have lead scientists here who run their own projects. I fund them with employees and materials to make magic happen. For example,” Tony said, pointing to the nearest corner, “that is a laser cannon.”

“A _what_?”

“Sorry, did I not say that loud enou—”

“You’re making _cannons_ out of _lasers_?!” Peter asked excitedly.

“Space cannons, yep,” Tony nodded, barely containing his smile.

“Jesus, Tony, you might be the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

Tony fought a blush, “Pete, don’t flatter me.” 

Gesturing to the next-farthest corner and trying to ignore the heat of Peter’s gaze, Tony went on to explain, “Down there, we’re testing some of Natasha’s new textiles.”

“Are those the fireproof ones?” Peter asked.

“Well, yes and no — they’re fireproof... but also pretty much everything-proof,” Tony admitted.

“Are you making fuel cells here too?”

“No,” Tony replied. “Too dangerous for the compound. We manufacture them in Colorado.”

“Oh, okay.”

After thinking for a moment, Tony said, “Come with me. There’s something else I think you’ll really like.”

Peter followed Tony down a few more hallways until they reached an area with smaller rooms. Peter could see through the glass windows inset in the doors that they were smaller labs, containing various things, sometimes occupied with people.

Reaching a door painted with yellow-and-black caution stripes, Tony finally stopped. “This is the room,” he said.

Before Tony could reach for the palm scanner, Peter fidgeted nervously, “Um— uh— Tony, I hate to ask, but do I need some kind of PPE for this room?” 

“No. You’ll be fine,” Tony smiled. He met Peter’s eyes and hoped his expression would calm his nerves.

Touching the palm reader, Tony unlocked the door and walked into the room without a worry in the world. Peter stepped in behind him, not nearly as relaxed.

The door closed behind them as they went inside, and Peter noted absentmindedly that it was a peculiar place. Although the room wasn’t big—Peter could walk across it in 20 paces—it was shaped like a cube, so it had a high ceiling. Peter was somewhat alarmed to realize, as he took a few steps behind Tony, that the entire room was padded. 

The floors and walls were covered in dark cloth-covered cushions. Even the ceiling was dark and cushioned, made even more peculiar by the lack of ceiling lights. The room was dim because of this, illuminated only by string lights lining the twelve edges of the room. The lights occasionally twinkled, like stars. Peter couldn’t decide if the effect was unnerving or romantic.

“Tony?” Peter called, looking around the room to see him standing a few feet away at a control panel. The metal panel was replicated vertically, so three versions of the same thing were stacked on top of themselves. As if someone standing on the ceiling could use a control panel, too.

“What is this place?” Peter asked.

Tony had already scanned his palm at the panel closest to the ground. 

“Tony?”

The billionaire finally looked at Peter over his shoulder, award-winning grin stunning him for a moment through the haze of his concerns. Peter’s stomach flipped from being at the center of Tony’s attention, even if only for a moment.

“Hang tight, Pete,” Tony said, and pushed a big green button.

A harsh buzz rang through the room, and all of a sudden, Peter was floating.

“Tony!?” Peter called. He was definitely freaking out now.

“Push off the floor,” Tony said. “Come this way.”

Peter felt like he was falling even though he could clearly see his body floating in one place. With a kick, he pushed off the floor with his toes and propelled himself with enough force to float over to Tony’s side of the room. 

Peter gently collided with Tony’s body in midair. Strong hands grabbed Peter’s forearms as the two drifted slowly into a padded wall.

“What’s happening?” Peter asked.

“We’re in free fall. Zero gravity,” Tony replied.

“This is kind of freaky.”

“But amazing, right?” Tony asked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Peter’s face.

Peter met Tony’s gaze with a hint of hysteria. “I mean, sure,” he squeaked.

Tony pulled a face, “Not into it?”

“I… I— no. It’s actually, I mean— this is pretty cool,” Peter admitted, heart rate slowing a little now that he realized they were floating peacefully and he was safe in Tony’s hands.

Tony released one of Peter’s forearms to brush his fingers across Peter’s cheek. “It’s the next best thing to visiting space,” he said.

“Did you make this?” Peter deflected.

“No,” Tony admitted. “I made something else, though.”

“What?” 

Tony couldn’t resist and leaned in to meet Peter’s lips in a kiss. Tony's tongue slid against Peter’s, and Peter engaged in the dance with limited enthusiasm. Before long, Peter pulled away.

“Sorry, my stomach is in knots up here,” Peter admitted. They were floating halfway up the room.

“I can fix that,” Tony said, turning back to the control panel. He held Peter’s hand tightly as he float-swam down to the middle console.

Tony pressed a series of buttons, but paused before the last one. Finger hesitating above a big blue button, Tony looked to Peter and said, “Turn upside-down.”

“What?”

“Like this,” Tony said, using the wall to swivel his feet to where his head used to be. 

Peter used Tony’s arm as a support to do the same. Once they were both feet-up, Tony hit the blue button.

A second buzz sounded in the room and they floated with increasing velocity toward the ceiling. 

Peter’s feet touched down on the padded ceiling. He stood normally, as if the ceiling was the surface of the Earth, and his stomach stopped feeling full of butterflies. Peter watched Tony land with an outstanding amount of grace.

“You made…” Peter’s eyes grew as he trailed off, realizing the implications.

“Artificial gravity,” Tony supplied.

Reaching up to pat his curls, Peter realized they lay normally against his head. He wasn’t just upside-down, feet stuck to the ceiling. The ceiling was the new direction of gravity. 

Peter made a tentative step backward, letting Tony’s hand slide from his grip.

“You... _made_... artificial gravity?” Peter asked, clarifying.

Tony’s eyes twinkled as he smirked. 

Peter’s face cracked into a grin, excitement finally oozing from every pore, “Do you know what this means!? Of course you know what this means, who am I kidding—” 

“Our space station will be completely unprecedented,” Tony said. 

Peter assessed Tony as if he’d never seen him before. This handsome, brilliant, wealthy, amazing man... was basically his boyfriend? Tony was interested in him? On what planet was this even plausible? Certainly not Earth. He must be dreaming.

“Tony, I don’t even know where to start. This is fucking unbelievable,” Peter marveled.

Continuing, Peter said, “The space station—that’s why you’re so excited about it? I mean, I wondered… I know there’s one already, but—”

“But not one like this,” Tony finished for him.

“Yeah,” Peter said, still in a daze.

“I want to do it right,” Tony said. “The launch in 1998 was rushed. Sloppy.”

“You’re— this— artificial gravity will solve so many problems, Tony. Calcium loss and vision impairment in astronauts, you’ve basically eliminated that factor entirely—”

Tony nodded.

Peter continued, rubbing his temple, “I mean, personally, I thought it was pretty cool that woman astronauts are physically more capable than men... but when it comes right down to it, artificial gravity is the future of space travel.”

Tony’s lips quirked up in the beginnings of a smile.

Peter stopped talking, realizing he’d been pacing animatedly.

“The new space station is going to do a lot that the first international space station couldn’t. Or wouldn’t,” Tony said. 

Tony continued, “Those laser cannons I showed you? They’re being integrated into the space station, too. We’re going to do research in outer space, sure, but the new station can provide so much more to the human race. Extraterrestrial defense. Political togetherness. What we can get out of this is nations working together to protect people against common enemies.”

Peter combed his fingers through his hair, soaking in what Tony was saying.

“This is why I’m so glad you can help make it possible, Pete.”

Peter froze, blushing.

Tony took steps toward him, holding him securely by the waist. “I want to keep you by my side,” he said. 

“Tony…” Peter said slowly, trying to organize his thoughts.

At Peter’s expression, Tony withdrew his hands as if stung. “Maybe it’s time we go back to normal gravity, huh?” he suggested.

Turning from Peter, Tony walked back to the control panel wall and pushed a series of buttons to put them back in free fall. Floating, Tony gestured for Peter to rotate himself back around and pushed a final button to return them to the floor.

“So do you... you know, want lunch or something?” Tony offered, pushing his hands into his jeans pockets and pretending the last few words they’d spoken never happened.

Peter shook his head, “Tony, come on.”

Tony wouldn’t meet Peter’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, Peter walked up to Tony and held his face in his hands. Tony’s facial hair felt rough against his skin, but a thumb brushing gently on Tony’s cheek convinced him to look up to Peter’s face.

“I want you, too,” Peter said.

Tony breathed in sharply.

“But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t confused, and— I— I’ve… been… you know, self-conscious of a few things,” Peter added.

Tony didn’t say anything, so Peter went on, “You won’t let me touch you, and I don’t understand why. Part of me is worried about the, like… budget issues. And how you said not to trust you. I’m just not sure… about a few things.”

Peter let his hands fall.

“What do you mean, budget issues?” Tony asked.

“At— at the conference, Natasha told me… she said the President is reducing the funding for the project and you might have to sell the government some technology to make ends meet for the launch. And… combined with… what you said at MIT, about— about— not giving anyone access to my research, even you. What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter said.

After a pause, Peter added, “I just worry that maybe this isn’t what I think it is. Maybe you only want me for the spider silk. I’m not sure how to interpret anything right now.”

Tony regarded Peter with wide eyes.

“Peter…” Tony started, “I hope you know I would never sell your research to anyone. Ever. I know that the situation with Strange set a… _strange_ precedent, but feelings for you aside, I wouldn’t. You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, and I would never want to stifle you.”

Tony continued, “If the POTUS budget cuts are really what’s bothering you, I’m happy to let you know that I’m selling them some old comm tech to compensate for the cuts. Nobody else is involved in that loss of intellectual property but me. I assure you.”

Peter bit his bottom lip, taking the turn now to not meet Tony’s eyes.

“So why, then?” Peter asked.

“Why what?” Tony replied, confused.

“Why won’t you… let me… you know,” Peter asked quietly.

“I…” Tony started, “Peter, I… I told you that I want you by my side. I meant that.”

Peter met Tony’s eyes, confused.

Tony continued, this time holding Peter’s waist firmly, “You mean so much more to me than just sex. It’s hard for me to disconnect from my past, sometimes… I just want what I have with you to be different. Special.”

“You do?” 

“Yes,” Tony’s lips quirked up, trying to give a reassuring smile, but his face betrayed his anxieties. “And I worry that… if I let you get physical with me, you won’t stick around for the emotional part.”

Peter’s heart melted. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, pulling his face in closer so he could whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Their eyes closed and lips met in a kiss. Peter’s stomach exploded with butterflies so suddenly he couldn’t say for sure the room didn’t malfunction and momentarily put them back in free fall.

* * *

The rest of the tour was decidedly anticlimactic, but only because there’s only so much floating and confessing that can happen in 24 hours.

By the end of the grand tour it was close to 4 o’clock. Peter was pleasantly tired and ready to relax. Tony’s energy also seemed to be winding down, but the kiss at the end of their visit to the artificial gravity chamber had put a noticeable pep in his step. He hadn’t stopped holding Peter’s hand for more than a few moments for the rest of their walk around the Avengers Facility.

“Are you thirsty?” Tony asked, “I can get Happy to bring us something. Anything you like.”

Blushing in the sunlight on the training grounds outside the large compound, Peter remembered Happy’s demeanor a few nights before and graciously declined.

“Thanks, Tony, but I think I’ll be okay until we get back to our wing.”

“Well, I have one more place I’d like to take you.”

“Where?” Peter asked warily.

“Somewhere fun,” Tony smirked.

“I don’t know if I’m up to—”

Tony gave Peter his best puppy dog stare, and Peter folded almost instantly, “Okay, sure.”

“Fantastic!” Tony gleamed. After a brief moment, his expression changed. “It’s too bad Rhodey can’t be here tonight,” he lamented.

“What’s he have going on?” Peter asked.

“Date night.”

“That makes three of us,” Peter grinned.

Tony tried to hide how chuffed Peter’s words made him feel, but Peter saw right through it. Instead of replying, Tony spoke into his watch, “JARVIS, have Happy bring a car down to the main entrance.”

“Right away, sir,” JARVIS replied through the watch.

“So,” Tony said, lacing his fingers through Peter’s and leading him around a corner to the front of the main building, “is there any day in particular you need to be back at MIT?”

“Um…” Peter said matching Tony’s strides, “Well, I was kind of planning to stay until Sunday. I mean, if that’s okay. Because I don’t have to teach until Monday afternoon. It’s a lab I’ve taught before, and I already have my teaching materials ironed out, so—”

Tony gave Peter’s hand a quick squeeze, and Peter trailed off from rambling.

“Sunday it is,” Tony replied, smiling. 

“Okay, great,” Peter squeaked. 

As they rounded the turn toward the front entrance, Peter gasped, “Dear god.”

Tony laughed, “What, you don’t like it?”

Peter gaped at the bright purple sports car, tinted windows and glossy paint gleaming in the afternoon summer sunlight. He shook his head, “I mean, it’s just, wow. Really out there.”

Tony shrugged, “I like shiny things.”

Curious, Peter asked, “What brand is this one?”

“Ferrari.”

Peter would be lying if that didn’t make his dick twitch a little.

“So you’re driving… which means we’re leaving the Avengers compound,” Peter deduced.

“Correct,” Tony smirked.

They reached the car, and Tony opened the passenger door. Peter brushed past Tony, teasing him with full-body closeness before sitting. Peter didn’t think he imagined Tony’s light intake of breath.

Tony shut Peter’s door gently and walked around the car to get in the driver’s side. 

“Any music requests?” he asked, starting the car. He buckled his seatbelt and quirked an eyebrow.

“Nathaniel Rateliff,” Peter chose quickly. He was interested to know which songs Tony liked.

Tony nodded and spoke to the car—or his phone, Peter wasn’t sure which—to make music play right away. Technological magic. 

“And we’re off,” Tony narrated, pulling away from his property. 

The road leading to the Avengers compound was a miles-long private drive lined by tall trees on both sides. A forest helped maintain the secrecy of Stark Industries. After driving for several minutes, when they finally reached the limits of the property, Peter wasn’t surprised to see security guards standing post by a wrought iron gate. 

The Ferrari practically floated down the rural two-lane roads. They weren’t passing anyone. Not a soul needed to be in this neck of the woods at this time of day. Peter stared out at the trees and absorbed the sights as an occasional rural home popped up.

“What’s the closest town?” Peter asked.

“Stark.”

“What?” 

“Stark, New York… is the closest town,” Tony answered.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Tony smirked. “But believe it or not, no family relation.”

“That’s pretty unbelievable,” Peter groaned.

“Whether or not it’s a coincidence I decided to put the Avengers Facility here is another matter entirely,” Tony added.

Peter laughed.

Tony smirked and reached over to squeeze Peter’s knee. Peter stroked the rough skin of the back of Tony’s hand with his fingertips, and Tony left his hand there.

A new song started playing. It was one Peter usually liked, even though it was sad. In the current context though, knowing it was Tony that listened to this music and there might be a reason for it, Peter became lost in thought.

_It's like you're telling me now  
_ _In the middle of the shit I need you  
_ _Or are you telling me now  
_ _In the middle of the set it's through?_

“What drew you to this album?” Peter mustered up the strength to ask over the next lines.

Tony pursed his lips, taking a moment to answer.

“To be honest, I haven’t had a lot of successful relationships,” Tony admitted.

Peter squeezed Tony’s hand in silence. 

_Now don't you try to fool me  
_ _when you're dumb, you don't fear as much  
_ _If it's gonna be that simple  
_ _I'd rather do it drunk_

Tony added, “Sometimes, those failures were my fault. Listening to this helps.”

Feeling suddenly guilty, Peter apologized, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have picked him.”

“No, no,” Tony said. “Nonsense. It’s a fantastic album.”

They were cruising past some dairy farms now. Peter smiled at the cows as they sped by.

“So what’s in Stark, New York?” Peter asked, changing the subject. “What could be more fun than all the science-y stuff back at the lab?”

Tony laughed at that, “You mean, you haven’t guessed?”

Peter frowned.

“My detective is losing his edge,” Tony teased.

Peter frowned deeper, “It’s not like you’ve given me any hints other than it’s going to be _fun_.”

“What’s fun and comes from cows, Pete?”

It took only a second for the lightbulb. 

“Ice cream?” Peter grinned. He was nothing if not a hungry post-teenage boy.

“Do you think an upstate New York creamery is going to be a fun place to visit?” Tony asked. He must be a believer of the Socratic method.

“Yes,” Peter answered definitively. His face was beaming.

“We’re almost there,” Tony said. 

Peter looked up and caught sight of a crowded ice cream shop on the side of the road. A vibrant green grassy field full of dairy cows extended backward from the shop, and the gravel parking lot was full of cars.

Tony pulled the car into a parking spot. Peter tried not to feel secondhand anxiety at all of the stares Tony’s Ferrari was getting. 

“Tony…” Peter said, “You think us coming here is okay?”

“Why?”

Peter shifted, “You brought a purple sports car to a backwoods creamery.”

“If anyone gets frisky, I’ll beat ‘em up,” Tony promised, touching Peter’s face. 

Peter didn’t seem convinced.

Suddenly serious, Tony asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Peter admitted. As the word left his lips, Peter realized that deep down, he really did.

“It’s gonna be okay. Let’s go.”

After Tony and Peter emerged from the car, most of the parents with small kids averted their eyes and pretended to not care to know who the flashy big shot that just showed up was. Tony found the back of the line, comprised mainly of bouncing children and tired adults waiting to order, making sure Peter was safe at his side.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” Tony asked.

“Rocky road,” Peter said. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m lactose intolerant.”

“What!?” Peter exclaimed. 

“I’m _kidding_ , Pete. Jesus,” Tony smiled, so much so it met the wrinkles around his eyes.

“I like pistachio. But also butter pecan, and coffee, and mint chocolate chip.”

Peter stared blankly.

“I don’t discriminate,” Tony clarified.

Peter let out air like he was laughing, but mainly he just rolled his eyes.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Peter said.

They stepped forward in line, only a few customers away from the window now.

“I like to think I am perfectly probable,” Tony retorted.

“Pie or cake?” Peter asked, changing the topic.

“Cake, if it’s vanilla. But pie if it’s not.”

“What kind of pie?”

Tony considered, “I like pretty much every pie except pecan.”

“So if you were on a desert island and had to pick one kind of pie to eat for the rest of your life—”

“Apple.”

“Really?” Peter was surprised, “I was sure you’d say key lime.”

Tony cocked his head, “What can I say? I’m an all-American man.”

Peter laughed, “You’re an eccentric man, and you have eccentric tastes. Except for pie, apparently.”

“Waffle cone or cake?” Tony shot back.

“I don’t believe in cones,” Peter said with a straight face.

Tony almost bought it. After a beat, Tony called his bluff.

“Pete, if you don’t order two scoops rocky road on a waffle cone I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”

Peter laughed, “You got me.”

“So predictable,” Tony sighed.

“Hey!” Peter laughed, “At least I can pick an ice cream flavor.”

Tony let him have the last word. Warmth swelled in his heart watching the younger man laugh with him. “You’re up,” Tony said, gesturing to the girl in the window.

“Already? Wow,” Peter said, and walked up to order.

After he ordered—predictably, two scoops on a waffle cone—Tony put in his order too. 

“Cup of strawberry, please,” he said, handing the girl behind the window a twenty dollar bill.

“Sir, do you have anything smaller?” the girl asked, “We’re out of change.”

“Keep it.” 

A worker from inside the shop handed Tony a cup of strawberry ice cream, and he thanked her genuinely before wandering away with Peter.

The pair found a secluded spot away from the shop to check out the cows while they ate. That was the pretense, at least, but Tony couldn’t keep from watching every motion of Peter’s tongue across his ice cream.

“Do you have a favorite place in the city to get ice cream?” Tony asked, leaning on the wooden fence.

“In New York?” Peter clarified. When Tony nodded, he shrugged, “When I was a teenager, I really liked going to Lucky's. Aunt May and I would go in the summer.”

Tony nodded, “Did you like growing up there?”

Peter licked before answering, “It was okay. I didn’t fully appreciate the city until I left.”

“So it goes,” Tony murmured.

“What about you? Where did you grow up?” Peter asked. His arm dangled loosely from the top rung of the fence as he relaxed.

“Long Island,” Tony admitted.

“What?! But— I thought you said you never saw yourself settling down in New York?”

“I didn’t. I moved as far away as I could when I was your age, to get the fuck away from my father,” Tony said dryly.

“That was when you went to Los Angeles?”

“Right,” Tony replied, focusing on moving his ice cream around in his cup with a plastic spoon. “Life sometimes has a way of making things happen that you didn’t plan on.”

A lick. “What made you come back?” Peter asked.

Tony cocked his head. “I’m not sure,” he sighed. “When Pepper and I broke up, I wanted to make a change.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek hard at the mention of Tony’s ex. This was new information he wasn’t prepared for. Taking a deep breath, Peter raised his eyebrows and joked, “Seems to have worked out in my favor.”

“Sure did,” Tony smiled slyly. He bumped Peter’s shoulder with his own.

Peter took the first bite of his cone.

“Sorry for bringing up an old relationship,” Tony said.

Pushing his body closer to the fence, Peter traced his fingers along the grain of the wood. “It’s okay,” he said.

“I can say with complete confidence you’re a better match than she and I ever were,” Tony replied.

Peter looked up to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I promise,” Tony said. He put all of the emotion he felt into his eyes and hoped Peter could read what was there.

Peter smiled, glancing down. “So, Mister Billionaire, what else do you have in store for this date night?” he teased.

Tony grinned, leaning his side fully into Peter, “Oh, this and that. I believe I promised we’d watch Star Wars one of these days… are you in the mood for a movie tonight?”

* * *

Back at the compound, Peter and Tony settled into the couch to watch The Empire Strikes Back. Peter snuggled into Tony’s side, safe under his strong arm. A fluffy blanket covered them both, and although it wasn’t even dark they were both dressed down in pajamas. Tony had dimmed the windows and got a few extra cushions to make the corner of the sectional a cozy nest.

“Comfy?” Tony checked.

“Yup,” Peter smiled, scooching closer. His head was resting on Tony’s chest, easily able to see the film on the gigantic TV in the lounge of Tony’s private wing. On the screen, Luke was escaping from the Wompa’s ice cave.

Under the blanket, Tony stroked the skin of Peter’s arm. Peter smiled.

Tony’s legs were stretched in front of him on the sectional, and Peter had his arms wrapped around Tony’s torso to make maximum physical contact. Peter moved one hand to lift the hem of Tony’s t-shirt and stroke the skin of his hip.

As soon as Han found Luke in the snow, Tony joked, “There are so many other ways Han could have kept Luke warm.”

Peter smirked, making bigger circles on Tony’s skin, “Oh yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“If you had to put two characters together, who would you pick?” Peter asked.

“Out of the originals?” Tony thought. “Tough choice. Probably Han and Lando.”

“That’s a good one.” 

They watched a shoot-out between Chewbacca, Han, and a probe droid in silence before Tony spoke up again.

“What about you?” 

“I’m a sucker for Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan, so…” Peter cleared his throat, “Maybe Obi-Wan and Anakin?”

“So kinky,” Tony chuckled. “Peter, are you telling me you have a thing for older men?”

Peter smiled slyly, “I think I already told you that, Tony.”

Tony made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, and Peter felt him shift on the couch.

Peter moved his arm to rest on Tony’s crotch and realized the conversation was affecting him. The growing hardness in Tony’s silk pants was just the spark Peter needed to make a move.

Tilting his head up from Tony’s chest, Peter gave his neck an open-mouthed kiss.

Tony took in a sharp breath, and that single sound let Peter know this was his chance. He continued kissing Tony’s neck, slowly trailing up to his ear and down to his collarbone. Tony swallowed thickly as his breaths became audibly louder.

Peter moved his hand from Tony’s hip to rest his palm on Tony’s growing bulge. At the contact, it didn’t take long for Tony’s cock to grow rock hard. Tony kept a firm grip on Peter’s shoulder while Peter felt up the hard length for the first time through the smooth fabric. He rubbed Tony through the silk with clear intentions. 

With a growl, Tony turned to meet Peter’s mouth in a ferocious kiss. He gripped Peter’s hips with both hands and pulled him right into his lap. Peter gasped into the kiss, pushing his hips down and forward to rub his erection against Tony’s, bracing his hands on Tony’s strong shoulders for support. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Tony’s hands crept under Peter’s t-shirt, and he pulled it up and off to lay Peter’s torso bare.

Tony’s hands caressed Peter’s skin, moving delicately along his back. Peter felt every touch of Tony’s fingertips send electric sensations across his skin. He kissed Tony passionately, hands sliding from Tony’s shoulders to his jaw, Peter’s own cock hard and leaking into his boxers from Tony’s careful touches. 

Tony broke their kiss to trail his mouth along Peter’s collarbone, peppering kisses across the skin of his chest. Ducking his head, Tony licked Peter’s nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

“Ungh,” Peter moaned, seeing stars as he pulled impatiently at the hem of Tony’s t-shirt. 

Tony pulled back briefly enough to let Peter take it off of him. After throwing Tony’s shirt carelessly on the floor, Peter drank in the sight of Tony like a man dying of thirst. Peter sighed contentedly as his eyes slid across the expanse of Tony’s strong chest and flat stomach. Brains, brawn and a billionaire — how did he get so lucky?

“Let me,” Peter breathed, hand falling back to the tent in Tony’s silk bottoms.

Tony nodded wordlessly at Peter with an unreadable expression. 

Peter leaned in to meet Tony’s lips in a kiss and hooked his fingers on Tony’s waistband. He pulled down to release Tony’s cock, grasping and pumping the length firmly while Tony panted into the kiss.

Tony’s hands had a firm grip on Peter’s bottom, and Peter couldn’t help but buck against the friction of his clothes while he steadily pumped Tony’s cock. When Tony pulled away to curse, moaning at Peter’s attention, Peter abandoned Tony’s mouth and returned to kissing his neck and shoulder. 

“Fuck, fuck, Peter,” Tony moaned.

Peter moved his fist up and down, swiveling his wrist each time he pulled up. Peter was sure Tony would come this way. He kissed Tony’s cheeks while his eyelids fluttered, squeezed the head of Tony’s cock whenever Tony flexed his hands on Peter’s ass cheeks, returned to sucking Tony’s adam’s apple and relished in the deep moan Tony couldn’t keep in.

But Peter wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to give Tony more.

Tony’s eyes shot open when Peter released his grip, but he didn’t protest when he realized Peter was only shifting positions. 

Predicting Tony was a giver, Peter abandoned the idea of kneeling between Tony’s knees as soon as it occurred to him. Instead, he rested on his side, sacrificing some range of motion to leave his body within Tony’s reach. Peter mentally thanked the shape of the wide sectional for allowing his curled position.

As soon as Peter settled with his face in Tony’s lap, Tony took the bait. He reached into Peter’s flannel pants to pump Peter’s cock, breathing heavily. Peter moaned and locked eyes with Tony before sinking his wet mouth onto his cock. 

“Jesus fucking H. Christ, Peter,” Tony moaned, hand faltering while Peter sucked.

Peter bobbed his head religiously. 

He slid his mouth down and up, fingers working the section of Tony’s shaft he couldn’t fit. His spit made slick work of his ministrations, and Peter was sure his mouth looked wrecked. If Tony’s expression was any indication, though, it was definitely a turn on. Peter kept his eyes on Tony’s face, especially when he sank down as far as his throat would let him, storing the erotic way Tony bit his lip into the deepest corner of his mental spank bank.

Pulling off almost completely, Peter worked his hand and let his own eyelids flutter while Tony’s strong grip maintained a brutally pleasurable pace. Peter’s cock was rock hard, but he focused on Tony’s shaft and sucked him down again, gagging when his lips nearly reached Tony’s base. Tony moaned, a deep guttural sound, and his free hand went like a magnet to the back of Peter’s head. 

Tony’s hand guided Peter gently, not wanting to hurt him, but helping Peter reach the perfect pace. Tony panted while his fingers slid into Peter’s curly brown locks, watching Peter’s bright eyes and flushed mouth slide up and down on his dick. There was no greater sight on earth.

“Fuck,” Tony gasped, the hand on Peter’s cock losing rhythm. Peter bobbed with intention, learning from the guidance of Tony’s hand that no longer gave him direction, but trusted how quick he learned to meet the perfect cadence.

“Oh, Peter, shit, I’m gonna—”

Peter held the base of Tony’s cock and pushed his mouth down further.

“ _Fuck_.”

Tony’s eyelid slid shut and his jaw dropped open, back arching into Peter’s wet mouth to pulse spurts of cum down his throat. Peter hummed as Tony came, holding him through the pulses of orgasm. 

“Oh, wow,” Tony exhaled, eyes opening while Peter pulled off of his cock and swallowed.

Peter grinned, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Come back,” Tony instructed, sliding his hand out of Peter’s pants.

Peter obeyed, returning to his original position straddling Tony’s legs.

Tony guided Peter’s face into a kiss with a steady hand on Peter’s smooth jaw. “What I wouldn’t give to taste myself on you every single day,” Tony murmured, sliding Peter’s pants down his hips from where he knelt.

Tony grasped Peter’s cock once more, his other hand cupping Peter’s ass. Without his sense of purpose from moments before, Peter sank his head to rest on Tony’s shoulder and succumbed to the older man funneling years of experience into pulling pleasure from his very core. Peter moaned into the crook of Tony’s neck, panting faster as he felt Tony’s hand slide along the base of his spine.

Tony gently slid his fingers between Peter’s cheeks, gliding until they made contact with his hole. Peter groaned as Tony used a finger to gently press and rub against him, still jerking his cock with absolute control.

“ _Tony,_ ” Peter panted into Tony’s neck, biting the muscle of his shoulder. 

“Such a good boy,” Tony murmured.

“Oh, _god. Tony_.” 

Peter’s breaths were ragged, and he wasn’t sure why he was holding in his pleasure. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, fire coursing through his veins, smelling the musk of Tony’s body, swaying together in passion that made his heart clench tightly.

“Come, baby,” Tony murmured.

“ _Ungh_ ,” Peter moaned.

Tony nuzzled into Peter’s neck, and that was all it took. Peter spurted hot cum onto Tony’s abdomen, bucking out of control while he gripped Tony with one hand and the couch with the other.

Tony’s rubbed soothing circles on Peter’s back, pulling him closer into a hug. Peter shivered, then giggled, taking a few moments to hide himself in Tony’s neck before pulling back to stare into his eyes.

The warmth in Tony’s brown eyes could save him in an ice storm, Peter thought. He took in every last detail of Tony’s face. Tony was smiling, but his expression conveyed more than happiness. More than just wrinkles around his eyes, taught cheeks, and lips transformed in an upward movement. Joy and life radiated from every pore. 

In that moment, Peter realized he was hopelessly, unequivocally, and absolutely in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, I hope I delivered! I can't help but be an utter sap, so I hope that's okay. (: 
> 
> Not sure if I'll have the next chapter done by next week, BUT! It WILL be posted as soon as I can have it up!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few new characters introduced at a 4th of July party with some fireworks at the end. ;)

Peter plunged his hand into the bucket of ice, fishing around with freezing fingers until he felt the neck of a glass bottle. Triumphantly, he hoisted his prize into the air, dripping cold water along his forearm. A few drops fell harmlessly on the dark wood of Quill’s back deck.

“Found one!” Peter called.

Quill, occupied with hanging patio lights across the yard while Loki held the ladder for him, hollered back to Peter, “Bring it over! It’s past time we got started.”

Searching the tables covered in trays of veggies, cheeses, and crackers, Peter finally found a bottle opener. He popped the lid on the IPA and set the tool back on the patriotic tablecloth before walking over to Quill.

“Anything else I can help with?” Peter offered, staring up at his friend.

“The grill is on, right?” Quill asked.

Peter nodded, stepping back while Quill descended. Quill had looped the lights around a big oak tree and only had a few feet left to string toward the tall wooden fence before the setup would be complete.

Quill took the beer from Peter, taking a long swig. “And the bluetooth speakers are charged?”

“Yup, just checked,” Peter smiled.

“Then it sounds like we’re all set,” Quill grinned. He handed his half-empty bottle to Loki, moving the six-foot ladder a few feet over by himself.

“Are you sure we have enough liquor?” Loki asked, skeptically swirling what was left in the bottle after Quill’s big sip. His British accent was a little out of place, considering the occasion.

“More than enough,” Quill laughed. “And I told everyone to bring a six pack. We’ll have a kickass Fourth of July, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I’m worried,” Loki smirked. “How safe can a Brit be at the birthplace of the American revolution? Imagine your friends, running out of beer, deciding to toss me into the harbor.”

Quill scoffed, but didn’t take the bait.

“Should I wait inside in case someone rings the doorbell?” Peter asked. 

Quill replied, “Peter, nobody rings my doorbell. Besides, it’s too early to expect anyone.”

“I told Tony to be here at seven,” Peter frowned.

“Well, Tony’s not just anyone,” Quill laughed, stretching the lights and struggling with a zip tie.

While Quill was busy grunting, Loki looked over at Peter. Making eye contact, he just shrugged.

Peter sighed, “I’ll be inside.”

Pulling the sliding door shut behind him, Peter felt the pleasant sensation of crisp air-conditioned air caress his skin. He may be living in New England, but summers were still warm, and he wasn’t used to being outside in the heat. Trying to stay as preoccupied as possible in the past weeks living away from Tony, Peter had kept himself quite busy in the lab.

Peter walked over to the kitchen island where Quill had strategically placed bottles of liquor and made himself a rum and coke with heavy ice. Over the pleasant beat of music playing through the yard and in the house, he didn’t hear the front door open and was more than surprised to see a large, bald man wander into the kitchen. He was covered in tattoos.

“Hi,” Peter greeted, eyes wide.

“Hello,” the man replied gruffly. “Are you the one they call Peter?”

“Um…” Peter was at a loss with this guy, “Yes? I’m Peter Parker. Peter Quill is out back. And you must be…?”

The man stared back blankly.

“What’s your name?” Peter prompted.

“My name is Drax.”

“Oh!” Peter said, realization dawning as he nodded quickly. “Welcome! Can I make you a drink?”

“Drax doesn’t drink,” Bruce said, strolling into the room behind Drax. “Hey, Pete. I’ll take some iced tea, if you’re offering.”

“Sure, Bruce,” Peter smiled, glad to have something to do. 

Bruce and Drax made small talk while Peter filled a plastic cup with ice and poured sweet tea for his advisor. “Lemon?” Peter asked.

“It’s fine without,” Bruce replied, taking the cup Peter passed.

Quill suddenly opened the sliding glass door, stepping in before Loki. “Drax!” he greeted, enveloping the alumnus in a bear hug.

“I see you are fat now,” Drax replied by way of greeting.

Loki raised his eyebrows, but played it cool while Quill introduced him to Drax and Bruce. Bruce and Loki slipped into small talk about academia with ease, aided by the fact Bruce knew quite a few researchers at Oxford. 

Drax and Quill shot the shit, walking back into the yard so Quill could show off his new lights. “Not bad, huh?” Quill asked, stepping through the door. 

“I’ll go wait out front,” Peter excused himself, assuming Bruce and Loki wouldn’t miss him.

Once he was outside, Peter took a seat on Quill’s front stoop and checked the time on his phone. With luck on his side, Tony would be here any minute. It had been an entire month since they had seen each other, accelerated teaching not giving Peter any time to leave campus. They had survived this long with only long phone calls and a few steamy video chats. Peter thanked whatever deity responsible for Tony allowing phone sex, otherwise Peter was pretty sure he would have exploded with sexual frustration by now.

Peter took a deep sip of his drink and watched a robin run across Quill’s yard. He had mowed recently, and the green grass complimented his landscaping, bushes surrounded with dark mulch, some occasional flowers peeking out in bloom, yard shaded by tall trees. The neighborhood was old and full of ancient oak and maple trees towering above the street. From his perch, Peter could hear children screaming in the neighborhood as they played — probably enjoying their own family barbecue — and he smiled remembering the rooftop cookouts he used to go to when he was young in New York.

Peter’s ears perked up when he heard the rev of an engine and turned to look down the street just as a sleek Lamborghini rolled into view. His heart quickened, because this could only be Tony, and Peter stood with a smile as the car parked in front of Quill’s house.

Peter was already making a beeline to Tony’s car when he opened the door and stood. Taking in the sight of Tony in real life was like a drug. Peter noticed Tony’s hair was shorter, but no less styled. His beard was impeccable, the salt and pepper complimented by his black t-shirt with metal band’s logo. Tony’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but he took them off at the sight of Peter. Tony’s happiness blanketed his whole face, the wrinkles around his warm brown eyes crinkled to the max to accommodate his giant grin.

“Tony!” Peter called, stepping into Tony’s open arms for a strong embrace before the billionaire even had a chance to shut his car door.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said into Peter’s hair. “I missed you.”

“I missed you so much more,” Peter said, squeezing his arms that were wrapped around Tony’s ribs.

“Oof,” Tony let out a bunch of air, patting Peter’s shoulder. He drew back a few inches and met Peter’s lips in a kiss. The soft feel of Tony’s lips against his made Peter’s nerves come alive, and suddenly he had goosebumps. Kissing was even more intoxicating than taking in the sight of Tony. He pushed his tongue past Tony’s lips, delighting in the scratch of Tony’s beard against his face and the way Tony’s throat made little noises that only Peter could hear.

“Peter,” Tony said, pulling away. He leaned to whisper in Peter’s ear, “Unless you want to have sex in this car, we’re going to have to call a time out.”

“Mmm,” Peter hummed, rubbing his cloth-covered erection suggestively against Tony’s, thinking that really wasn’t a half bad idea.

“Horny slut,” Tony laughed, and Peter pulled away with a wicked grin.

“Can you blame me?” Peter batted his eyelids. 

“Not really,” Tony bit his lip. 

“Party’s in the back…” Peter said, trailing off.

Tony groaned, “Jesus, you are not helping. This is a red alert, Pete. No innuendos.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Okay, fine. Quill, Bruce, Loki, and Drax are all here. I’m not actually entirely sure who else will show up, but it’s supposed to be a big party.”

“Great,” Tony said, finally closing his driver's side door. Tony adjusted the crotch of his jeans with a grimace and a sigh, then took Peter’s drink from his hand and bucked it.

“Hey!” Peter protested.

“Boyfriend tax,” Tony said with a wink. “Take me to the party, I’ll make you another one.”

Back in the kitchen, Bruce greeted Tony with a hug and an endorsement. “I’m really happy for you guys,” he said with a genuine smile. 

“Thanks, Bruce,” Peter blushed. 

Tony busied himself making two strong cocktails and handed one to Peter when he was done. Just as Peter took a sip of the creation, two new people walked into the space. Peter had never met them before.

“Good to see you, Bruce,” the woman said, giving Peter’s advisor a hug.

The man shook Loki’s hand and introduced himself, “Sam Wilson.”

“Peter,” Bruce said in introduction, “these are my old students, Sam and Gamora.”

“Oh, wow! Great to meet you,” Peter said with a smile, shaking both of their hands.

“Is Quill here?” Sam asked.

“He’s out back,” Loki said. “Just put some food on the grill.”

Gamora rolled her eyes, “I’d better go make sure he doesn’t burn it to a crisp.” She immediately went through the sliding doors to the back yard.

After Gamora left, Tony stepped over and said to Sam, “Nice to meet you. I’m Tony.”

“Stark?” Sam asked.

“The very one,” Tony smiled tightly.

“You’re friends with James Rhodes, right?” Sam asked.

Tony was taken off-guard, “You know him?”

“Sure do,” Sam said. “We served together in the marines.”

“Well, would you look at that,” Tony pulled a frown, impressed. 

Turning to Loki, Tony joked, “No relation to an immigrant butler, I hope? If so, this would be quite an interesting turn of events.”

Loki smiled, all teeth, “No.”

Bruce interjected then, “Loki is brothers with Thor, though, which is still a pretty interesting connection.”

“I should really stop networking,” Tony muttered, furrowed his brows, “Well, it’s wonderful to meet you both. If you’ll excuse us, I think Peter and I would like to enjoy some fresh air.”

“Fresh air sounds nice,” Bruce said. 

“By all means,” Sam gestured to everyone to precede him.

A procession of five men who all apparently knew each other — one way or another — exited Quill’s house. They were immediately greeted by the smell of grilling burgers and the shrill voice of Quill arguing with Gamora, waving a spatula for emphasis.

Peter choked back a laugh when he saw Quill’s apron. It had a gaudy red and blue print with a large capital _‘MURICA_ printed across the chest.

Bruce sighed and turned back to engage in conversation with Sam and Loki on the deck. Peter and Tony went down to the yard to stand under the freshly-hung patio lights and sip their drinks in a modicum of peace.

“ _You can’t smush the burgers while they’re cooking! All the juices will leak out!_ ” they heard Gamora chastising while Quill rolled his eyes in front of the grill.

Turning to Tony, Peter smiled, “You look really good, Tony.”

“So do you, Pete. Your ass looks great in those shorts.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be flirting?” Peter laughed, looking down to hide his blush at the jorts he’d just bought from a thrift store a few days earlier. He was pleased Tony noticed them.

“I’m a man of habit,” Tony smirked.

Peter’s ears perked up at the sound of a creaking fence. Curiously, he peered around Tony to watch a horde of men wearing leather jackets stroll into Quill’s yard. With mild alarm, Peter stammered, “Do— Tony, are we supposed to know them?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Good question.”

“Well if it isn’t my troublemaker of a son,” one man with a mohawk said, staring straight at Quill.

Quill pivoted on his heel, still holding the spatula, “Hey, dad! Dudes! So glad you could make it.”

Quill pushed the spatula into Gamora’s hands, ignoring her sputtering protests, as he turned his full attention to the dozen men surrounding his… dad.

“What’s going on?” Tony whispered out of the side of his mouth to Peter.

“I have no idea,” Peter deadpanned. From their position in the yard, it was like watching a scene of a play unfold — and they had front row seats in the audience.

Quill walked up to the man with a mohawk and gave him a firm hug. When he pulled back, Quill smirked and said, “Wasn’t sure if you would be here since y’all are so shitty at RSVPs. Glad I got enough food for you assholes.”

“Who says we wanna eat your cooking?” one leather-jacketed man joked.

“Shut up, Kraglin.”

Realizing introductions should be made, Quill leaned back and said, “Hey everyone, these are the Ravagers. And this is my dad,” he pointed at the mohawked guy, “Yondu.”

“Ravagers?” Loki asked from the deck, confused. 

“They’re a motorcycle club. A traveling one. That apparently decided to grace us with their presence for the holiday,” Quill explained.

“Where’s the beer?” a gruff voice asked from the Ravager group.

“It’s in the kitchen,” Drax answered.

About three-quarters of the Ravagers made their way inside at the promise of alcohol, and as Quill continued to make conversation, Tony turned back to Peter.

“Baby, you know I love meeting your friends,” Tony said.

Peter raised an eyebrow, “I feel like that’s Act I of whatever you’re trying to say right now.”

“Do we really need to stay?” Tony asked, leaning in to whisper his next question, “Or can I just take you back to my hotel and rip your clothes off?”

Peter shivered, “Tony, we have to stay. It’s important to socialize.”

Tony looked Peter up and down, “You have until the first firework. Then we split.”

Peter nodded dumbly, “Sure. Okay. One firework.”

Tony’s predatory smirk spread across his face. With the plan set in motion, all Tony needed to do was burn a few hours until he could whisk Peter away from the party and have his way with him. Simple.

Waving across the yard, Tony called, “Yondu, was it?” Tony left Peter rooted to the spot, watching in bemusement as Tony approached the Ravagers. Tony turned as he walked, giving Peter an exaggerated shrug, hands raised as if he had no choice but to socialize with guests.

Peter gaped, mouth open, as Tony walked away from him.

“That fucking bast—” Peter started to say.

“Hello.”

Peter almost jumped out of his skin as he turned to see where the voice suddenly came from. 

“What the fuck!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, sorry,” a woman replied. She had jet black hair and was dressed strangely, wearing khaki pants and a sweater despite the warm summer night air.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she added.

“Are you one of Quill’s friends?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” she smiled, all teeth. “My name is Mantis.”

“Mantis. Wow. Okay, yeah, hi. I’m Peter.”

Mantis stared back with a blank expression.

“I— can I help you? Are you hungry? Do you want a drink?” Peter struggled.

“You seem tense.”

“Wow,” Peter said. Internally, he thought _Quill sure knows how to pick ‘em._

“I’m a yoga and meditation instructor,” Mantis added. “I don’t mean to intrude, but… perhaps I could assist in calming your worries?”

“Calming my…” Peter choked on his drink. “I’m with someone. I’m gay.”

“I know.” 

Mantis did that weird thing with her teeth again. _Does she think she’s smiling?_

Peter was about to turn Mantis down when she suddenly reached out with both hands to massage his temples. Within seconds, Peter felt like his whole body was melting into the grass.

“ _Wow_ ,” Peter breathed. This time, his tone was entirely different.

* * *

Tony was in the middle of starting a dice game with Yondu when he saw Mantis start massaging Peter’s head out of the corner of his eye. With a twitch of his lips, he smirked at the sight. Peter would be fine for a few hours, just as he would. They would enjoy some company before returning to his fancy hotel for the night to... enjoy each other. 

Tony had done this song and dance before. But he’d be damned if he’d have a hard on the entire time. 

Playing dice helped.

With the next roll from Kraglin on the table, buns and condiments pushed aside on a folding table to make room for their game, Tony noticed something.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Tony interjected.

“Something wrong, big shot?” Yondu asked.

“It’s just…” Tony sucked his bottom lip, cocked his head, “that die there... was a three. And then it flipped and became a six.”

“You tryna tell me my dice are rigged?” Yondu challenged, pressing his chest closer to Tony.

“No, but…”

“That’s sure as shit what it sounds like,” Yondu said.

“Well, if I could maybe just take a look at—”

“Everything okay over there?” Quill interrupted. He was staring down at them from the deck, reading his dad’s face as easy as the newspaper.

Yondu stared at Tony’s face a moment longer before turning to Quill, “Sure, terran.”

“Terran?” Tony asked.

“Just a nickname,” Quill rolled his eyes. “Yo. What the fuck is Mantis doing to Peter?”

Tony turned to look back, stomach growling at the smell of burgers and hot dogs cooking on the grill. Mantis had Peter laying on the ground, relaxed on his back, red cup balanced on his belly while Mantis massaged his temples from where his head rested in her lap.

“Beats me,” Tony chuckled. “When’s the food supposed to be done?”

“Any minute,” Quill grinned. “Grab a plate, you can be first up.”

Yondu sputtered, “Excuse me?”

Tony grinned wider and leaned forward say, “I RSVPed.”

Yondu scowled up at Quill, “Ain’t no way to treat your own father.”

“You can be number two,” Quill offered as a consolation. With a congenial tone he added, “But Tony’s completely right, you didn’t RSVP. Fair is fair.”

“Whatever, _terran_.”

The word suddenly became an insult.

Quill turned to Loki as soon as he lifted the lid to the grill, “Hey babe, you can come eat whenever you’re ready.”

Loki’s face turned a shade more pink at the offhand remark, but he smiled all the same in thanks.

“So how long has this been going on?” Tony asked, sidling up to snag a hot dog.

“Oh, you know,” Quill shrugged.

Tony bumped Quill’s elbow as he walked away, but not before he snagged a second hot dog.

At the condiment station, Tony hoped he could squeeze some ketchup and mustard before catching any more unwanted attention from the Ravagers. He almost managed to finish in peace, but was approached at the last moment by a bald-headed woman dressed almost to match them.

“Tony Stark.”

Tony blinked, taking in the woman, “And you are?”

“Nebula.”

“A pleasure,” Tony smiled tightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“I won’t,” Nebula said, stepping in Tony’s way.

“What the fuck, Neb?” Gamora asked, reappearing from the house. Her tone dripped with condescension from her vantage point.

“What, _Gamora_?”

“You know each other? Great. I’ll just be—”

Tony was stopped by a strong arm. Nebula’s arm. He was mildly impressed with her strength as she gripped his shoulder.

“Is this about the ketchup? Because I totally thought that was up for grabs—” Tony said.

“It’s about Quill. And by default, Peter,” Nebula said.

“I’m sorry?” Tony asked.

Nebula squeezed her fingers hard enough to bruise. Tony winced, hoping that it wouldn’t.

“Quill is like family to me, and Peter is like family to him. Don’t fuck it up.”

“I don’t plan to,” Tony deadpanned.

“Good.”

“Can I go now?” Tony asked.

Nebula didn’t break eye contact as she picked up one of Tony’s hot dogs. And took a bite.

“Great. You’ve asserted your dominance. Way to go. I’ll be over there,” Tony pointed in Peter’s direction.

Nebula released her hold on Tony’s arm, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he walked to Peter’s spot. He was still laying, appearing comatose, in Mantis’s lap.

“Hi. Can I have my boyfriend back?” Tony asked pleasantly.

Mantis looked up at Tony, surprised.

“Of course,” she said. Mantis stopped massaging Peter’s head, and as she released his head his eyes fluttered open.

“Wow,” Peter said.

“I hope you feel more relaxed now,” Mantis said. 

“I didn’t even know I _wasn’t_ relaxed,” Peter murmured, scrambling to stand up.

“I brought you a hot dog,” Tony smiled.

As Mantis walked away, Peter took Tony’s paper plate and looked at the single dog gracing its center. “Thanks, Tony,” Peter said. “Did you already eat, or…?”

“My hot dog was accosted. It’s not important. Eat,” Tony waved his hand dismissively.

“Thanks,” Peter repeated, taking a giant bite. “Mantis is really amazing, I have no idea where she learned that,” Peter added around a mouthful of food.

“Mm,” Tony replied, sweeping his gaze across the yard to the other partygoers. The sun was setting, and by now everyone had a drink in hand and a plate in the other. The guests were well furnished with food and drink. The only thing left to check off the list was pyrotechnics.

“Glad she made you feel good. Anything _I_ could do for you?” Tony offered with a wink.

Peter blushed, swallowing the last bite of his hot dog.

“I mean—” Peter started, “I— all the time, obviously.”

“Yet you had to go and set these pesky _rules_ ,” Tony countered, rolling his eyes.

“Fireworks in fifteen!” Quill yelled, clanging a cowbell to emphasize the announcement.

“Come with me while I snag a burger? I am actually _very_ hungry,” Tony pouted.

Peter laughed, “Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tony had eaten a cheeseburger in less time than it took Peter to make it for him. Tony hung an arm on Peter’s shoulder while he instructed how to build it perfectly — ketchup, pickles, white onion, no mustard, _NO mayonnaise_ , lettuce, tomato, cheddar cheese, sprinkle of pepper.

The look on Tony’s face as he was eating was worth the trouble, Peter decided. The man looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. 

They shuffled to the back of the deck while Loki set up the pyrotechnics. Under the cover of darkness, it was hard to see any details. Peter focused on the grip of Tony’s hand in his as the first firework was lit. The fuse reached the explosive and a loud _BANG,_ bright flash, and following slow fizzle filled his senses. The smell of fireworks drifted to Peter’s nose, quickly followed by the feeling of Tony’s hand tugging his. Peter let himself be led away from the crowd with Tony as everyone continued to watch the fireworks. Tony and Peter only had eyes for each other as they made their way to the car.

* * *

They’d had sex as soon as they stepped foot into Tony’s luxury suite. 

It was thirty days of waiting that required such quick release, but neither Tony nor Peter minded. They had time for more. The hot and heavy meeting of mouths, quick touches through open zippers, slick feeling of a hot tongue, and strangled cries as they both came in each others’ hand was just the thing to momentarily satisfy their bottomless appetites. 

A while later, Tony was lounging on the hotel bed with a white bathrobe draped nonchalantly over his olive skin. He was reading something on his smartphone, distracted, sucking in his bottom lip. Peter drank in the sight as he exited the bathroom from a post-sex shower, dropping his towel to get Tony’s attention as he walked toward the bed.

“Hey, sexy,” Tony smirked. He immediately set his phone aside.

“Hi,” Peter smiled.

Peter cozied up to Tony’s side in the bed, and Tony rolled to drape his arm over Peter’s side as they stared into each other’s eyes. The hotel room, lavish as though it was, had not held Peter’s attention for even one-eighth of a second. Peter had missed Tony.

A lot.

Enough, at least, to keep him from fawning over the champagne on ice set on the table, from gaping at the oil painting hung over the chaise lounge, from realizing how much money Tony had spent to get them a perfect oasis for a brief reunion. For Tony, the cost was nothing. Yet everything. He could never hesitate for any expense as long as it was for Peter.

“Congratulations on your patent,” Tony said. “I just realized I haven’t said that in person.”

“Oh, thanks!” Peter beamed. His smile made his face wrinkle against the pillow. Tony’s heart clenched at the sight.

Tony propped his head up on the hand that wasn’t touching Peter’s side. He looked thoughtful, then broached the subject, “So, Pete. I know you mentioned applying to PhD programs this fall. Have you thought about schools?”

Peter blinked. “Schools? I— yeah, actually,” Peter blushed. “I was seriously considering NYU. I mean — Natasha seems like she would be a really great advisor, and we already have had a back-and-forth from the conference and everything, and it would be nice to be close to Aunt May. I just—um. There are a lot of perks. Like, intangibles, you know? I’m not chasing the best-rated programs, because I think I would just be… happier. In New York. I… yeah.”

Peter was blushing ferociously by the time he was finished speaking. He added, “I don’t want— I mean, there’s no— there’s no pressure. Since we’d be living closer. I don’t want you to— to— to feel like I’m being… clingy.”

“Clingy?” Tony balked. “Never.”

Peter pulled a half-grimace.

“You could never be clingy enough, Pete. I’d love to have you closer. I like… _us_.”

“Yeah?”

Tony smiled gently, “I really do.”

He rolled Peter over to lean above him, “But don’t feel like NYU is your only option. You know I’d take the jet to Timbuktu just to see you.”

“I don’t think—”

Tony placed a kiss on Peter’s lips.

“— there’s any schools—”

Another kiss, a little longer.

“— in Timbuktu.”

A pause. Tony smiled, “University of Timbuktu. But don’t let me go giving you any ideas.”

Tony leaned down, not for a kiss, but to draw his lips along Peter’s neck. Peter felt his skin flush and tingle at the sensation of Tony’s beard moving toward his shoulder. Tony found the spot he wanted and stopped to place an open-mouthed kiss. Peter felt his chest move up, wanting nothing other than more of Tony.

Peter’s hands went to the knot at Tony’s waist, undoing the cotton belt to slip the bathrobe from Tony’s body. They were both naked. Tony’s eyes connected with Peter’s. 

Peter swallowed thickly at the sexual tension between them. Was he imagining it, or was the air vibrating with the intensity of their proximity? He licked his lips and said, “I think I’m ready.”

Tony’s eyes grew wider in the span of an instant, a microexpression of surprise. “Tonight? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Tony let his erection press into Peter’s hip, hot and heavy, as he kissed Peter’s lips. He caressed every curve, letting his tongue slide against Peter’s in worship. His unhindered emotions were plain for Peter to read as he kissed back, clutching Tony’s back as they let everything they were feeling be poured into that kiss.

“Good thing I’m always prepared,” Tony smirked. His smile wasn’t quite as wily as usual, expression diluted by lust. Tony rolled to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer to retrieve a bottle of lube and a condom.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Peter started to say.

“Hush,” Tony replied. “Condoms ‘til we’re married.”

Peter’s face went red.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Tony’s eyebrow cocked up as he ripped open the packet, “but I want you to always feel safe.”

Tony rolled the condom down his hard shaft, Peter watching with rapt attention as Tony’s cock bounced back up when he was done. 

“Do you like being rimmed?” Tony asked.

“I— I never—” Peter stammered.

“May I?”

“Please,” Peter replied in a small voice.

Tony hummed. He moved down in the large bed, snow white covers askew from all of their lovemaking, and sank his mouth down on Peter’s erection. He pumped up and down to get it coated in spit, then moved off to work the shaft with his hand as his mouth went further south.

Peter spread his legs wantonly, head turning into the pillow in borderline embarrassment. His insecurities were all but forgotten when Tony started touching him. 

Peter moaned, eyes fluttering shut, when Tony’s mouth met his hole in a delicate open-mouthed kiss. Tony swiped his tongue flat against Peter’s opening, then focused on the spot with quick movements back and forth. His tongue did all the moving, his lips occasionally kissing, his hand pumping Peter’s cock slowly. Peter felt boneless. He spread his legs even wider, hands hooked behind his knees, amazed at the new sensation. Peter felt there may never be an end to the pleasures Tony could show him.

Tony moved his mouth up to suck on Peter’s perineum, touching Peter’s hole with a fingertip now instead. He pushed against Peter’s tight ring of muscle with gentle pressure until it went inside. 

“Ok?” Tony checked, glancing up.

Peter nodded. Tony worked his finger in and out, looking lazily for a small bump. He found it in no time at all. With just a graze across Peter’s prostate, Peter gasped. Tony pulled his finger free and used a moment to kneel up and spread lube all over his own cock. Without touching Peter, Tony teased him by making Peter watch him touch himself. Tony pulled slowly at his cock and used his other hand to pinch his nipples. The men watched each other with rapt attention until Tony decided it was enough.

Tony leaned over Peter’s body to suck at Peter’s nipple while he led his slick fingers to Peter’s entrance. He slipped one finger inside, then pulled out to add a second. Peter let out a breath at the slight discomfort, but Tony kept kissing his chest and moving between nipples, going in and out while intentionally not hitting Peter’s special spot.

They were making out by the time Tony decided it was time for a third finger. He pulled back to watch Peter’s face, pushing in slowly, ready to stop at the drop of a hat. Peter clenched his eyes shut, but took steady breaths. Peter felt overwhelmed by pleasure, a hint of pain, and all of the feelings he had for Tony.

This was intimacy, defined.

Tony looked down at Peter and saw everything he wasn’t saying. Without a word, he slipped his fingers out and replaced the blunt tip of his cock at Peter’s entrance. It was still slick with lube, just like Peter’s hole, and hard as a rock from waiting weeks for this moment.

Tony settled down on top of Peter, elbows braced above Peter’s shoulders and one hand carded into the hair on Peter’s head. He pushed against Peter’s hole and said, “Breathe.”

Peter breathed. He breathed through the uncomfortable, unpleasurable sensation of Tony entering him, and breathed as Tony stopped. Fully seated, Tony waited until Peter’s eyes suddenly met his and Peter’s fingers gripped his back with no other interpretation except _go_.

Tony leaned down to suck on Peter’s collarbone, drawing his hips out slowly and pushing back in at the same rate. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut as the synapses switched from pain to pleasure. Each move of Tony’s cock inside him made his cock ache. When Tony drew back, Peter wanted nothing more than the thrust back in. 

“Faster,” Peter whispered. 

Tony bit the skin he was kissing in response, snapping his hips back in. Peter moaned.

“Fuck, Tony, Jesus,” he whined.

Tony pulled his chest away from Peter’s, leaning back and bracing one hand on the bed by Peter’s side while Tony’s other hand held onto Peter’s hip. Tony looked down to watch his cock slipping in and out of Peter’s hole. He cursed at the sight, gripping Peter’s hip tighter and focusing on the thrusts that were making them both feel so. Fucking. Good.

Tony pushed his limits, knowing all too well that even though they had a warm-up round his orgasm wasn’t going to wait long. He reached out a hand to grip Peter’s shoulder, the thumb pushing against Peter’s neck. Peter squirmed, mouth open, breathing heavy and enjoying the almost instinctive mindless submission to Tony’s dominance. 

“Mine,” Tony panted, thrusting harder into Peter.

Peter nodded, head twisting back and forth into the pillow.

“Mine, Peter. Say it.”

Peter glanced down, cock straining at the sight above him. Tony’s sweaty, muscular chest and his thick, beautiful cock moving in and out of him. He looked at Tony’s face, wild with arousal.

“Yours,” Peter said.

Tony moved to support himself on the arm by Peter’s neck. Without faltering in his thrusts, Tony used his other hand to wrap around Peter’s cock. And he pumped.

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter gasped.

“Peter,” Tony replied with a gravelly whisper. 

Peter came. The feeling of Tony’s cock moving inside him, the feeling of Tony’s safety and strength, the feeling of a slick hand working his dick all coalesced into a pulsing, back-arching, screaming orgasm. Peter clung to Tony as he ejaculated all over them both, body tensing around the cock inside him to pull a strangled moan from Tony’s throat.

Peter didn’t let go of Tony, but as he relaxed from the intensity of his orgasm he felt Tony continue moving within him at slower, more deliberate, somewhat erratic thrusts that brought Tony to his own end. Tony shook at the last pulse, panting into Peter’s skin. 

Once Tony caught his breath, he looked up into Peter’s eyes. They stared at each other, open. Raw. Bare. Vulnerable.

“I love you,” Peter said.

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. His breath caught as the world stopped around him, time seeming to stand still as he heard ringing in his ears. As quickly as time stopped, his heart started beating again.

“I love you, too,” Tony choked out. 

Tears welled up behind Tony’s eyes. As he refocused, he saw Peter’s eyes were leaking too. They held each other, laughing, breathing, wiping away tears, eventually covering themselves in blankets. Together, they let the world turn with their eyes only for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever since an update, I'm so sorry! I've had a TON of things happening in life. I got engaged, I got a job, and I got a puppy. I'm on cloud nine but it's left little time for writing!
> 
> There's one more chapter (an epilogue) I plan to add. Not sure on my timeline, but hope you enjoyed this chapter. Much love. :) <3


End file.
